Starting Again

 It's been a good while since I've felt like writing. I've started several times and have a few unfinished drafts of ramblings I spared you from. 

You're welcome. 

My creative juices have always ebbed and flowed. Since I haven't written as much over the past few years, those juices certainly haven't flowed as mightly. Practice does make perfect on occasion. 

The truth of my absence and limited creativity is much more complex and private. Frankly, 2023 was a year of extreme lows and very few highs. I can say that there were victories...my weight loss has been consistent (more on that another day). And any day that I have breath in my body and a chance to see the beauty in my life is a good day. 

But there were things that happened in 2023 that were heart-wrenching and soul-crushing. I can't be completely transparent about some of those things because they aren't my stories to tell. But...there is nothing so humbling or scary as being a parent. Or a child. 

I can tell you that both of my parents faced health issues in 2023. I went to the farm in October and stayed for a few weeks. My dad had an injury that turned into a life-threatening infection. It was frightening to see my strong and stalwart dad in so much pain. But we did what we always do. Pulled up our britches, made a cup of coffee, and got on with it. 

He is doing better but whether or not he is taking care of himself is questionable. 

I had a few goals coming into the new year concerning my professional and creative goals. 

I wanted to write consistently. I want to complete a devotional book this year. I am currently working on revamping our family cookbook. I have created several journals and a few activity books for sale. I want to continue to really pursue and promote that venture. 

Realistically, I haven't done a good job of holding myself accountable. But I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. I think that I had been experiencing a delayed trauma reaction and had shut down in some respects. 

Writing has generally been a healing outlet for me. In fact, it was after a second bout of congestive heart failure that I started this blog. This time, I didn't even know how to express what I was feeling or what I needed. Depression? Maybe. Anxiety? Most certainly. Living in survival mode? We all do it from time to time. 

I think it is so important to be able to recognize those valleys in our lives for what they are. Life is tough. Life can be cruel and unfair. But it can also be joyous and crazy and quiet. A healthy life recognizes that a good life contains all of those things. 

For now, I hold to my philosophy of life. That our lives are made up of small moments. The big ones can overwhelm us, crush us, or in turn, bless us. But it's the small moments that satisfy, that comfort, that keep us grounded and grateful. 

Here is to the quiet cup of tea, a random evening walk around the neighborhood, the meaningful conversation with a loved one, the flicker of a candle, the sounds and smells of a pot of soup bubbling on the stove, or the beautiful words of a hymn. 

Talk to you soon. 

Back in the Saddle (again)

 It’s been a minute.

I could wax eternal about life, the universe and everything in it, but I am (frankly) not in the mood to pontificate. If I tell you that the last several months have been a doozy…believe me. And we aren’t talking the fun kinda doozy, either.

I am not going to spill all the beans (or my guts) but trust me when I say that feel so much for those of you who are going through the fire. I also know that there are varying degrees of burns…and they all hurt.

For one, we lost my mother-in-law last November. She had been failing so we knew that we would eventually have to say good-bye. But there was always a small hope that she would somehow recover her strength. It has been a strange world without her.

We were with her when she had a massive stroke. One of the most heartbreaking scenes I have ever witnessed was watching my husband and father-in-law try and wake her up. Another heartbreaking scene was several days later when I heard my husband sobbing on the phone as his sister called him to tell him she had finally passed.

There is much more to the story but subsequent illnesses, and unrelated events have left me fatigued and heartbroken. I’m not sure how other creative-type people work, but stress does me in. My creative energy has gone into a free fall. I have only recently started to see flashes of inspiration from the corners of my eyes. It could be all of the pollen that is floating freely in Indiana but I like the idea of coming back to life just a bit better.

Those flashes of inspiration (or pollen…take your pick) have reminded me that I need to feed my mind and soul with beauty and hope. Part of that hope is to talk of God’s goodness…despite circumstances and situations.

So here we are again. The storms of life are not as violent as they were a few months ago…though the damage that has been done is lasting. We all are a little scarred and weather-beaten but are reminded that God is faithful and….in the words of the fabulous Kelly Clarkson…”What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” 

Expectations

 Today the Parsonage is getting plugged in. At least, MORE plugged in. 

An electrician is here installing and repairing electrical outlets. The Parsonage is old. I'm not sure how old, but let's just say that the master bedroom has ONE electrical outlet. 

ONE. 

We have cords running everywhere. Which, of course, is not safe. 

I'm perched here on the couch trying to look purposeful and occupied. I even heated up some leftover stir fry for breakfast so I wouldn't dirty up my very clean kitchen. 

What's more is that the power company has loads of worker bees in the church parking lot. They have been installing power poles all over town and have basically used the parking lot as home base. Our front window has provided quite the view. 

Princess the Cat is beside herself today. All the activity has put her on high alert. She keeps looking at me as though I am supposed to keep all of this chaos in line. She is a Siamese. They have high expectations. 

Speaking of expectations. I think sometimes we set ours too high. We have an idea in our mind about how things should work. 

People need to act a certain way. 

A circumstance should happen this way. 

Life just plain needs to look a certain way. 

I am not for a minute about to suggest you shouldn't hold the people in your life to some sort of standard. Abuse is never okay. And plain courtesy and consideration is necessary for healthy relationships. 

It's just that sometimes life drops little "surprises" on us. Or we have unrealistic views of what should be. 

I would say that marriage is probably the hardest on our expectations. We expect the fairy tale. The magic. Life is not so magical when the bills aren't paid, a spouse is sick, and the looks of love become more looks of exasperation. 

My husband never acts like I think he should. He wants to talk when I want to stay silent. He wants a night out when I would just as soon have a night in. Sometimes he doesn't say the right thing. Or notice when I need help. I think he should be able to read my mind and I'm offended when he doesn't. 

Our first year of marriage was rough. A family tragedy occurred roughly around the same time as our wedding. And though I felt like I handled it fairly well, I still was traumatized to the point that I stuffed a whole lot of feelings down. 

I was weighed down with indecision and insecurity. 

Plus, The Studly Muffin was a whole lot different than me. My laid-back tendencies annoyed and frustrated him. I couldn't figure out why he couldn't just let me be. He just needed to chill out. 

My friends. Little did I know that I would need his intensity and energy in my life. I would need his never failing loyalty. He would need my calmness and positivity. 

What a mess we make of things...just by living vicariously through expectation. We don't appreciate the beauty and blessings right in front of us. We are too busy trying to mold life into our own vision of happiness. 

By the way, the electrician just popped in and apologized in advance for the crazy noises he is about to create. Princess the cat has disappeared into Josiah's bedroom to hide.  She has decided that all this activity is too much for her today. 

I don't blame her. I'm thinking a second cup of coffee might be in order. 

Fall Spaces at the Parsonage

 I am sharing a video I made of  Fall at the Parsonage. 

To be honest I am not that thrilled with it. I can that the walls in the living room need repainted. I need to buff down the piano with Old English. 

And I really don't like the throw pillows. 

I also struggled with my voice. Do I really sound like that? I didn't realize I sounded so "lispy"...we probably can blame that on my crooked teeth. 

I suppose that nothing is ever perfect. The beautifully produced videos and homes of Pinterest Land don't tell the real story of life. 

The truth is that our home has been a safe place filled with comfort and warmness. Staying home for me is not a punishment. It is filled with beautiful art, beloved books and pets, a fine collection of hot tea and, most importantly, people that I love. 

Recently, I heard someone say that we all need to take those leaps. No matter if they aren't perfectly orchestrated or complete. 

My goal in whatever I have done on this blog all these years is to share just a little bit of my life with you. My hope is to encourage. Trying to add beauty into the struggle, the heartbreak, and the mundane has made all the difference in how I live my life. 

Hope you enjoy! 

Rub a Dub Dub

Folks in my family take their baths very seriously.

At least, those who still partake in the bathing ritual.

There are a few sellouts who shower.

Which, I do, from time to time.

My favorite bathing location has to be the master bath at my parents' farm.

The bathtub there is some sort of glorious creation of blue and green glass tile and a massive whirlpool tub built into something resembling a miniature deck.

To reach the tub, one has to stand at the very edge of the room and make a running leap.

At least, those of us are more vertically challenged.

I'm sure my 4'11 Momma could easily perform a swan dive as part of her ceremonial bathing.

When I visited last summer, I could always be found at the end of a long, hot day resting and soaking in that tub.

Around the tub is an assortment of wonderous bathing and soaking products.

It's like a dreamy spa... but free and over the top.

The first night, my niece brought in these glorious bath bombs. They were all purple and gold and sparkly. The particular one I tossed in the bath floated and bobbed across the tub leaving in its wake a trail of happiness.

The next night, my mom showed me...wonders of wonders...a box filled with rose petals made from soap. These had been a gift from my sister. I was tempted to sneak them home in my bag, along with the rose-scented wipes my mom kept on her vanity.

To even further the experience, I would drag in a pedestal fan every night and point the thing right at me as I soaked in the tub reading some delicious murder mystery.

It was as close as I was going to get to a vacation near a body of water....let alone a beach.

My own bathtub at home is well-used, though modest.

It is an older tub...not one of those new fiberglass jobs that leave the user feeling as if she is bathing in a sink.

I have my own collection of bathing paraphanlia...not as impressive as my mother's...but I do my best.

There is the Dr. Teal's salts, the essential oils, the marvelous spa brush that exfoliates, and the usual assortment of scrubs, washes, lotions, etc.

I have to share my space with Old Spice body wash, and several bottles of men's shampoo.

One of these days, I am sure that Jesus is going to send me a real-life claw foot tub.

We had one when I was a teenager.

It was wonderful. We lived in an 1800's farmhouse that had let the town grow up around it over the years. This room didn't have a shower. The shower had been added later in a downstairs afterthought.

This bathtub was a work of art.  My mom bought one of those blow-up spa pillows so we could lean back and truly enjoy the soaking experience.

When I am in the tub, I can take some time to let my body relax. The water soothes my achy joints and calms my spirits.

There is something so comforting about those little rituals we have in our life. No matter how poor we've been...where we've lived...the time I have taken to unwind and care for myself has provided something constant and necessary.

There have been seasons that I was physically unable to get into a tub. Or even bath myself. So I don't take it for granted.

I think during this time of uncertainty it's been nice to continue the practice of soaking and thinking.

We don't like to talk about self-care. For most of us, it brings up thoughts of weekly pedicures, hair extensions, and massages.

I'm not going to fuss at you if you participate in any of those things...at least those things you can do when the world isn't locked down.

But...if you are like me and tend to neglect yourself in the care of others...you need to hear this.

It's okay to offer some tender loving care...to yourself.

Your TLC might look differently. A quiet morning with a cup of coffee. A time spent in front of an easel with a little pallet of watercolors. Saving up for those cute, but comfy shoes that will get you through summer and belong. No duct taping the flip-flops this year!

I've been inspired to add to my "spa collection" when we are free to shop at TJ Maxx. I am going to look for some of those rose petals made from soap. And maybe another bath bomb that shoots out purple and gold sparkles.

Surgery and Stuff

I did it. 

Remember my frank "talk" I had with my gynecologist some time back? 

On Monday, I had a quick little surgery. 

I say a quick "little" surgery because I still have most of my "parts." The surgery itself was uncomplicated, but for someone like me, there were a few more steps and hurdles. 

I had a little difficulty waking up and my oxygen levels weren't ideal when I was in recovery. But all is good and I was sent home with a few more stitches and a happening pair of fuzzy socks. Color puce. 

It is early. Currently, I am on my couch (I couldn't climb the vast height of my bed) with my cat waiting to take a pill (or two). The rest of the household is asleep.

Including (wait for it), MY MOMMA! She is here! In my house. In Josiah's little bed. 

I know what you're thinking. Why are you just now hearing about all of this STUFF going on with me? I am generally a bit more transparent. After all, I have admitted to losing my skirt in public, frequently going to the Wal-marts with two different shoes AND accidentally putting cough syrup in a coconut cream pie. 

Just. Plain. Goofy. 

That's what I be. 

This season in my life has been just harder to talk about. There is so much going on in the world. Wildfires. Contentious elections. People have just become unhinged. 

The fact that I had to sign a "Consent for Sterilization" seemed insignificant in the grand scheme of things. My private pain and suffering seemed almost too tender. It has been a constant reminder of all of my perceived failures. 

Rationally, I know that it was impractical and almost impossible for me to become pregnant again. Plus, the miracle of Josiah's adoption was and is a thing of beauty. I have no complaints. I love being a momma. 

It's just that infertility took away my choices. And some of my dreams. 

But. We do what we have to do...don't we? "Railing" against my body and venting publically about my disappointments and current pain seems counterproductive. And it's really not my thing. 

The reality is that my current list of medications is downright ridiculous. The girls at my pharmacy have memorized my birthdate. I have gained more weight in the past two years year than I previously lost. I don't ever have a day that I am not in pain from all the metal located in my body. I never know when the tide is going to turn and my heart function is going to take another nose dive. For nearly 8 months this year, I bled. I stop breathing when I sleep and sometimes my feet and legs swell so much I can't wear my cute shoes. 

Which is downright insulting, I assure you. 

But, my friends. I am singularly blessed. For the most part, the things that I have suffered have made me a better person. 

I have a husband that adores me. 

I have a son that sat up for two hours last night watching over me before he went to bed. He basically took the "night shift." This boy. He is a treasure. 

I have parents who have always been supportive and allowed me to be "me." 

Not to mention the love and support of all of the rest of my crazy family. And I can't even begin to tell you about my church family. 

They are precious. There is even a sweet couple who stayed at the hospital with my family the whole time I was in surgery and only left when they could see me in recovery. Last night, we were blessed with yummy food and a visit from some of my favorite people. 

And I have a Savior who comforts me. Who keeps me. Who has shown His faithfulness time and time again.

The past few months have been a reckoning for me of sorts. I have needed some quiet and private time to sort through my feelings. And, frankly, I haven't felt my best. I have needed to reserve my energies for evenings at home with my boys. Time spent with good books and mastering my homemade roll technique. Mornings spent in quiet devotion with a good cup of coffee (and plenty of cream). 

It's time for me to take a few more pills. I feel pretty good and my cat is doing an excellent job of keeping me company in this, the wee hours of the morning. But pain is pain and I'd rather not tempt it. 

My momma is here and she brought with her some treasures from my daddy's garden. I got to spend a few hours with my brother (though I would have liked it better if he could have stayed longer and made some of his famous beans). The Muffin has fetched and carried and been as doting as he always is. 

I feel cherished. Not only is it a fact...but it is also a choice. In the long run...no matter what is taken away...so much more is given. 

For those feeling misunderstood....

I've really struggled with writing this post.

Lately, I've felt a bit misunderstood. I think most of us who deal with chronic illness feel this way from time to time. In my case, it is especially hard for me to talk about some of the things I suffer through.

I find that people become impatient with suffering. It makes them feel uncertain. I understand completely! We all have expectations for each other. Suffering makes us feel icky instead...no matter if we are the ones suffering or not!

For nearly the entirety of my adult life I have struggled with pain and chronic illness. I've had periods of time that I have been at death's door. Then I have other times that I have led an almost normal and productive life.

I mostly have learned to manage my pain without the aid of narcotics. I say "mostly" because there are simply times that I don't manage very well. Some days the extent of that management is not crying in front of you.

I try to mostly live every day with purpose and try to live a beautiful life....regardless of what comes my way. I say "mostly" because I do have days that I struggle to find purpose.

There is part of me that is waiting for you to get tired of me. You are going to grow impatient with my suffering. Even though I try not to complain, you are going to begin to wonder why husband requests prayer for me so often or why I have had to say "no" to certain things.

You might not know this, but I've been doing this a very. long. time.

I get weary from time to time.

Now that I've laid out all of my reasons for this wallowing in self-pity, I need to share my secret.

There are worse things than feeling pain.

There are worse things than feeling like you don't measure up.

There are worse things than feeling like no one understands what you are going through.

I can't look too far beyond my own experiences to find someone who is experiencing other things far worse.

I am a lucky, lucky girl. If you have stuck with me through these years of uncertain health I want you to know how much I love you.

The worst thing in life would be to have no one to walk with me through those bad days. The worst thing would for me to decide that I could do it all on my own. The worst thing would be for me shut myself off from those beautiful moments...how much I would miss!

You have told me that I'm beautiful when I feel anything but.

You have made me feel like I am more than this broken person.

You have seen potential in me when I can't see much more than my lack.

You have loved me through tears, temper tantrums and really bad days.


I do have some advice for those of you struggling with something in your life. Maybe you feel let down by life in general. Maybe you are having difficulty reconciling your expectations to your real life. Maybe, like me, you are experiencing poor health and just plain sick and tired of feeling sick and tired.

For one...you need to give yourself some grace. You need to know that what you are experiencing right now is not the sum total of your existence. In other words..."this too shall pass."  And here is the biggie....allow people to love on you. We need each other.  Speak life into your relationships. Never let a day go by where you don't tell someone you love them.

It is so tempting to fall into the trap of self-pity. I know. It is a trap that I find myself drawn to. But there comes a point where we all have to embrace those beautiful things in our lives. For some of you, that beautiful thing might be feel like just a glimmer or a spark...but grab a hold and don't let go.

Like any teacher with her salt, I have been giving myself a daily assignment. I have to find one thing each daily that makes me smile....a blessing I can point to or a scripture or Psalm that shines light on a dim situation.

I am always a bit relieved when I don't have to look to far for hope. I also have to remind myself, daily, that it's NOT ABOUT ME. That there are others in the world with far greater challenges and mountains to climb. And that we all have a story to share and a load to help carry.

Just know, my friends, that I love you.

Beke Gets Frank

I’ve been sick.

Again.

I currently have the worst cold of my life. I’ve been sick for 5 days.

5 days, my friends.

I’ve had enough snot come out of my head to fuel a large battleship. Not that snot is considered a viable fuel source.

I also have more on my “to-do” list than is decent. Right now, The Muffin and Josiah are off picking up things like toilet paper and cat food. I usually do the shopping runs and I think The Muffin was waiting it out until I felt better.

Things changed when we ran out of toilet paper.

All this time in bed has allowed me to do a few things. I’ve gotten several more history lessons ready for the curriculum I’m writing. However, I am sure there will be some intense editing than needs to be done after all the snot clears. I’ve already caught myself rambling about the plight of the Chinese peasant at the turn of the 20^th century.

I also want to be well before we leave to spend Thanksgiving with family. I absolutely hate being sick on holidays.

Today there is something else I want to talk about.

Something happens to me when I get really sick. I become a little less patient with nonsense.

Even if you know me in real life, you might not know this about me.

I can be REALLY frank.

You might not know this about me because for the majority of the time I try to keep it zipped up. After all, I don’t have to express my opinions all the time.

But I probably have an opinion and it might not be one you share. And I’m not about to argue with someone who just likes to argue.

I simply. Do. Not. Care. 

The people pleaser in me would rather just keeps things mellow. After all, I don’t know everything. I am not right about everything. And neither do I have to prove my ‘rightness’ to anyone. I frankly don’t have the need to justify or explain myself.

I also don’t need to be preaching at you. You’re grown. Just be prepared to face the consequences of the nonsense you spout out on Facebook.

But here are a few things I need to just get off my chest. I am at that stage in my life when it's just better to be frank when times call for it.  And as I can't walk around handing out my manifesto to everyone on the street (that would be just weird) you, my friends, are about to get the whole shebang. 

1.       It’s not about you. Really. Most things you get offended about have nothing to do with what you need to be worrying about. You have bigger fish to fry. 

2.       You probably don’t know about half the stuff you think you know. Just because you read it on the internet doesn’t make it true. Be a student of history. Don’t be hasty to build worldview around someone else’s opinions. Read and study. Think before you spout. There is ALWAYS more to the story.

3.       Watch that potty mouth. Really.  People will listen when your words are peppered with conviction, substance and intelligence...no matter what the subject matter. Using foul language changes the whole conversation. If you want to use foul language around me...take you and your conversation elsewhere. I mean that in love 😘

4.       Walk in someone else’s shoes. We all tend to make snap judgments that have nothing to do with reality. All Republicans are bigots. All Democrats are arrogant and shifty. I am no more defined by my preference in the voting box than you are. Give it up already.

5.       Take responsibility. Even if you think you got the short end of the stick. Cut the excuses. We have to stop whining about those hard things in life. I’m preaching to myself here. Just do the thing.

6.       Tell yourself the truth. Don’t try and rewrite the past. What’s done is done. People will disappoint you. Don’t try and make them something they aren’t. Make peace with your life and with those in your world right now.

7.       Take care. What you do today will come back to bite you in the butt (sorry, Mom). It is what it is. You can’t expect to abuse your body and allow bitterness to fester in your heart without it eventually manifesting in your life. Find another way to deal with the stress.

8.       Give yourself a break. Most of you are owning it. You are taking each day as it comes. You are trying to love those around you and doing your best to make something beautiful out of your life. Don’t look to the left or to the right. Stop comparing yourself to other people. Take a nap. Take two naps. It’s time to be who God intended you to be. 

9.       Set your priorities. What things are you willing to die on a hill for? For me it comes down to a few things. Don’t mess with those who can’t protect themselves. I don’t care whose choice it is…I care about the unborn, children, and the elderly. Don’t mess with my son and my husband. They are precious to me. Don’t talk about women’s body parts and make suggestive comments. Gross. If you don’t believe in God and think Christianity is a crock that is your business. I doubt I will be able to convince you otherwise. But don’t expect me to be impressed by your bigoted attitudes and uninformed opinions. My brand of Christianity has nothing to do with your preconceived notions and ideas. I am a follower of Christ…not just a follower of rules. I love you...I really do. But loving you doesn't mean I have to agree with you. And I'm okay with that. 

10.   Just be nice. I have probably offended someone today. Being offended seems to be quite the thing right now. I hope it’s a fad. Like parachute pants and mini corn dogs. Pull up those big girl panties and get on with things. Times a’wasting. 

Telephone...The Watch Pig

Hello, my friends.




Hope you are having a fantabulous day! We have a busy couple of months coming up here at the little parsonage and I'm doing my best to organize my ducks and count my chickens.


You do realize I don't really have ducks OR chickens.




Just a cat who is a Princess.




I thought I would take some time and start reposting some of my blog content that didn't receive a  lot of love...either I wrote it many moons ago (when just my momma and a few friends read my blog) or it got lost in betweenst chili recipes or curriculum reviews.




The story I am about to share with you happens to be one of my favorite, but TRUE, stories. I wrote it when Josiah was just a little guy, but I'm not changing a word.




Hope you enjoy.

Sometime back, my husband was gone overnight to a Men's Retreat. My little boy, Josiah and I snuggled into my bed with our two boy cats and drifted off to sleep. I was suddenly wakened to one of the cats sitting squarely on my face. "Crazy cat," I thought, and proceeded to throw him off the bed. Of course, sleep was elusive for a good long time after that. I chuckled to myself when I thought of being alone with Josiah and our "watch" cat. Josiah would be more helpful if anyone ever tried to break in. My cat would be as helpful in a crisis as a stuffed pillow.





When I was a little girl in the hills of Arkansas we had a pig named Telephone. The story goes that my dad went into town one day to pay the telephone bill. While there he was drawn to the sale barn and used the telephone bill money to buy a pig. This wasn't the first time or the last time that Dad brought home livestock in the back of his black Chevy pickup.




There was the duck that thought he was a chicken. We brought home a lady duck to remind him that he was, indeed a duck and he abandoned her. Quite sad, actually. For a few years we had a goat named Dew Drop. There was very good reason to name her that. We had Job the mutt who was so pitiful looking that we couldn’t name him anything but Job. We had a few cows, a whole lot of free range chickens and we always had cats.




Telephone the pig was nothing like the character of Wilbur in the children's book, Charlotte's Web. In fact, in my humble hillbilly opinion, most pigs are nasty and aggressive. They are fairly clean, but usually have the personality of an agitated telemarketer. Telephone was no exception.


 When Telephone first came to live with us he fit neatly into the wooden pen my dad constructed for him. As he grew, Telephone was able to climb out of the wooden pen, regardless of how many additions that were added to the top. He terrorized the chickens. He rooted up the vegetables in the field and would occasionally butt small people to the ground. Telephone the pig was massive and ornery.







One day, Telephone the pig took on quite a different roll than the pesky pig we all knew him to be. Telephone the pig was to become Telephone the Watch Pig. We lived way, way out in the country. Picture the deep dark woods. Imagine a long dirt road that cuts through the deep dark woods. Our house sat right in the middle of these deep, dark woods at the end of that long dirt road. Sound spooky?




Actually, it was a great place to be as a kid. Lots of running room, plenty of space for pets and pigs. Our nearest neighbor was about 1/4 of a mile away. My brother had a lot of outside space to practice his trumpet. Visitors that headed down our road were usually friends, the occasional sales person or the Jehovah Witness ladies.





The Jehovah Witness ladies were really nice people. They would come out just because they enjoyed visiting with my mom. Mom would serve them cinnamon tea and they would to some obligatory banter back and forth about their obvious doctrinal differences then settle down to talk about their kids and the latest cross stitching techniques. On this particular day, mom was at home piddling with chores, getting caught up from work. She, by chance, passed the open door and saw the strangest sight.




Parked in our dirt driveway were the Jehovah Witness ladies. They were hunkered together; both scrunched into the passenger seat with terrified looks plastered on their sweet faces. Telephone, the psycho watch pig, was standing on his hind legs with his front legs resting on the open driver’s side window of the car. He was doing his usual snorting and stomping (Telephone could throw quite a fit).




 Mom stood for a moment stunned at the sight then rushed out the door and proceeded to shoo Telephone away from the car. Immediately, one the Jehovah Witness ladies flew into the driver’s seat, rolled up the open window and backed the car down the driveway....rocks and dust flying from beneath the car's tires…. The ladies frantically yelling and gesturing at my mom over the dashboard. "We've got to go...We'll call...See you soon." They turned the car around and went racing down the long, dirt road with Telephone the Psycho Watch Pig barreling after the car like some big, loopy dog. Job, the mutt dog, just watched. I'm sure he thought, "I ain't touching this one!"





The family had a different sort of appreciation for Telephone after that. He continued to chase cars and guard us against visitors. It got to the place where my parents or one of kids had to escort guests to and from the house. The extensions that my dad built onto Telephone's pen were never tall enough.


 Some how that crazy pig always escaped.




Sadly for Telephone, a necessary part of country life came too soon. Telephone was loaded back into the black Chevy pickup and taken to help provide for the family in another way. Later, we did get two more pigs to take his place. They weren't quite the characters that Telephone had been. Visitors found their way to our doorstep...free of hassle. Unless you counted tripping over a few chickens on the way up. Cars would cruise with ease up the driveway. We missed that pig.







I've often wondered if maybe the Secret Service has it all wrong. Why spend thousands, and millions of dollars training ordinary guys? Buy a few pigs. Set them outside the White House. I guarantee you, a few hillbilly pigs like Telephone the Psycho Watch Pig would deter any raving lunatic that came stumbling across the White House Lawn. There are a lot of crazies in the world.




We as Christians are given a greater protection than the most diligent Secret Service agent. We are given protection for our minds, our hearts and often physical protection from danger. Several years ago I was involved in an event that would change my life forever. I had a massive car wreck that left me with lifetime disabilities. Did God provide me with protection? Absolutely. For one, I survived.




More importantly, He gave me protection of the mind and heart. He gave me strength that would take me through the difficult days and years ahead. He helped me see a rainbow at the end of a very dark cloud. He made me see a purpose in what I had suffered. My broken body could heal. Not perfectly, but adequately. My car could be replaced. It was my heart that needed healing and my mind that needed comforting.




God did that and more for me. He protected me from years of bitterness and heartache. He protected me from disappointment and disillusionment. The most well-trained military personnel, the heaviest gates, the burliest bodyguard could not provide such protection. Even Telephone the Watch Pig couldn’t do as much.

Bus Travels

Good Evening from Cousin Camp.

I'm pooped.

And that's probably an understatement.

I can't possibly talk to you about all that's gone on here since we landed in Joplin on a Greyhound Bus early Friday morning. Or was it late Thursday night.

I will say that there was some cabinet painting happening. But that is a whole other story.

But first....the Bus.

I mentioned previously my sad, sad tale of not making our first scheduled (and paid for) trip. We wound up getting on the Bus last Thursday.

The first bus took us to St. Louis.

I'm not the best selfie taker. But here you can see me and my traveling companion and raring to go.

This first bus was fairly new. There was a bit more privacy on this one compared to our bus that traveled  through Missouri.

We did run into some rain upon our arrival to St. Louis.

We shared the Bus Station with the Amtrak train. This was the "food court." I was just happy it wasn't a vending machine.

We had about an hour layover, but by the time we got food and used the restroom it was time to line up again. As it was we wound up taking our pizza on the bus.

Just a quick public service announcement: PEOPLE! Learn your geography. There were people in line for my bus who were trying to get to Atlanta. Maybe Greyhound needs to invest in little travel maps.

I also need to say that the Bus ride was full of some...interesting people groups. What an adventure for a homeschooled kid!

I don't know why I didn't take any pictures of the second bus. It was decidedly older...and our bus driver had NEVER DRIVEN THE ROUTE BEFORE. Yup. I can count at least 3 or 4 people riding the bus (including me) who could have navigated the I-44 stretch of from St. Louis to Joplin with a bit more confidence. Don't get me wrong..he did fine, but we did leave a fella in Lebanon. This fella didn't pay attention to the warning, "we are only staying at this stop 5 or 6 minutes." In a dramatic hitch-hiking situation, the fella flagged us down. He told me later, he wasn't going to leave the bus until Oklahoma City. For real.

This was our stop in Springfield. It's strange. We have such happy memories living in Springfield. I felt kind of proud of my old town. Even from a bus.

Anyhoo. As I mentioned it was really late (or early) when we got to Joplin. I was thrilled to see my Mom and Dad waiting for us.

So far Josiah has been thrilled to be reunited with his Cousins. These are his people. They appreciate the quirkiness and one-liners. He has even been busting out the moves with his girl cousins playing Just Dance.

Notice I said, "girl cousins."

Those boy cousins are too cool for Just Dance.

If there were only words that could only express Josiah's Just Dance experience.

Priceless.

Strange.

For now, it's time to eat again.

We do have our priorities.

Bus Blues

Evening, friends.

If my day would have gone as planned I would be on a bus approaching Joplin, Missouri at this very moment.

But, my days seldom go as planned.

I am in the corner of my cozy couch in the parsonage wearing my worn out nightie.

I won't go into the hairy details, but I have a little beef with Greyhound and my husband loves Jesus more than me. At least he acts like Jesus better than me.

I might have wished in-grown toenails on a few folks.

We are trying for Act 2 tomorrow, in which Beke and her boy, Josiah try once again to catch the 1:45 bus to St. Louis and then to parts southwest.

Do any of you remember that awful video of the physician being carried off the plane in protest because his seat was commandeered by the airline? I'm not suggesting that he behaved in a mature and appropriate manner, but I now understand how FRUSTRATED this man must have felt.

Not that you would have ever caught me making such a scene. We don't do "scenes" in our family. Unless some kind of Broadway show tune happens across our playlist. Or they start playing "Play that Funky Music White Boy" over the grocery store speakers.

Speaking of that...I don't think our little grocery store here in town plays in sort of music over their speakers. What is up with that? Do they not understand what they are missing? People are happier when they hear peppy music. Happy people spend more money. And think of all the teenage boys that are failing to be humiliated when their moms start busting a move in the middle of the canned goods.

Back to the business at hand (i.e. my rant)...

How do you do when your well-placed plans go awry?

I used to do better. But then again, I seldom have had much work out the way I thought it should. I should be an old hand at this by now. In my defense, ever since our big move last September I feel like Indiana has conspired against me.

I can't blame Indiana as a whole. We really have beautiful and supportive people around us. Our church folks treat us with such care. And most of the time we all try and act like Jesus.

Anyhoo.

I had planned to take pictures of the whole adventure, but it's probably a good thing I was too irritated to whip out my phone camera. Not to mention I had wasted all of my battery on checking the nifty little Greyhound bus tracker.


Lies! All lies!

Anyhoo.

This too shall pass.

In the meantime, I decided to up the ante by putting a few more books in the travel bag and adding a few more treats to our snack cooler. Doing this in faith!

I'll keep you up to date.

Summer Planning (and a bear story)

Happy Wednesday! 

Hopefully your week is moving along all spiffy-like. 

Mine is moving. 

How is that for vagueness! 

This has been one of THOSE weeks. We seldom like to talk about them, but they always find their way into conversation...punctuated by grimaces and eye rolls. 

Anyhoo. I am in the middle of preparations for COUSIN CAMP! I can't believe this our 7th Annual Cousin Camp. In one week, Josiah and I will be on a bus heading south. 

Yep. Taking the bus. 

I suppose there are worse things that an onboard potty and free wifi. The only thing is that I can't haul a lot of stuff with me so my usual cousin camp preparations have had to be via remote control. 

I'm also hoping that the Cousins will have mercy on their poor Aunt and allow her at least 2 naps a day along with a morning cup of coffee on the deck...and a evening cup of tea on the deck. 

I also need a pedicure and chocolate! 

WHO IS RUNNING THIS COUSIN CAMP ANYWAY?

Cousin Camp has already claimed it's first victim. My poor dad was beaten across the back by a short-tempered elm tree then thrown viciously to the ground. He, of course, is WAY TOO SMART to go to the emergency room and had my niece (who is a sociology major) bandage him up. 'Cause sociology is a lot like nursing. 

I would post a picture, but I am still in the running for the favored child status. There is a set of dishes I have my eye on. Basically he was trimming up the yard for Cousin Camp and ran afoul of an elm branch. 

There have been also reports of a black bear sighting at the farm. My mom told me that one evening after supper a black bear was spotted in the back pasture. This meant that everybody had to go see for themselves. They do live in the "Show Me" state, after all. For a hillbilly this means you take off in whatever state of undress you might be in. Shoeless. Shirtless. Whatever. Mom had on her housecoat and long-tailed nightie. Then the truck got stuck in the same back pasture and Shoeless Paul (aka my dad) had to hike it back to the farm to get the car. By this time the bear had decided he had had enough of the hillbillies. 

Mom did have her camera on her. I'm sure between Shoeless Paul and the kids in the back of the truck the whole gang looked just a bit scary. Have I mentioned that these people are smart? Nothing says "bear repellent" like a fancy camera. 

Other summer adventures for us this year have included the Library Program and The Muffin exposing himself to some kind of Poison Oak.  

We are wanting to plan some kind of vacation, but at this point our budget says "no way." 

In the meantime...Have a wonderful week! And don't go chasing any bears. 

Just Trucking Along

My friends! Hope your day is swimming along quite nicely.

This is VBS week at our church.

GURRL!

You should see my house. Actually. Don't come over. I still have a basket of clean clothes that hasn't been touched since last week except to look for spare socks and undies.

You know the drill.

Things are much worse than I'm letting on. 😉

My living room and dining room table is covered with posterboard and Bible story props. 'Cause you can't do anything properly without glue sticks, brightly colored posterboard and glitter in my opinion.

Today Josiah and I are going to a library program. I'm not sure what it's about. It just appease my conscience  a little bit. We are supposed to be catching up on homeschool stuff  from the Mays to end all Mays.

I actually went to water aerobics yesterday. I hadn't been in 3 weeks! It did feel good though. In fact, it felt so good that I stopped and got some Chicken Mcnuggets at McDonald's on the way home.

Awesome.

I'm also knee deep in preparations for Cousin Camp. Yep! It's that time of year again. We are having a tropical theme this year. I was hoping for a little beach volleyball and a coconut smoothie sipping on the back deck and calling it good,but Mom likes to keep them busy.

If my Dad had his choice they would spend the whole week doing farm chores.

Well,my sweets. I've got to get back to the chore at large.Namely a Scripture verse poster I'm working on. And maybe a load of laundry. 😭

Have a beautiful week!

One of those Mays

Good morning, my friends.

Long time no type. I've been busy.

And tired.

And busy.

I can't possibly tell you everything that has happened over the past few weeks (has it been that long?), but I thought I would share a few of the finer moments.

Get ready. Some of them are gnarly.


Like this one. Notice that lovely little dent in Lucy the Ford? Yup. It was caused by a deer. A deer. A deer who happened to fling herself in front of her car on our way to District Council this year. District Council is our annual Pastor's meeting.

We left on a Sunday night after church to deliver Josiah to his grandparents house before heading on to the meeting. What you can't see in this picture was that we had stopped out in front of a Dollar General Store. AND that the headlight had been tucked back into place before The Muffin taped it all nicely with some fancy Duct Tape.

We are just waiting for the body shop to give us a call.

But before THIS happened the blessed gift of The Strep Throat came upon me.

GURLLL! Strep Throat?

Who has time for Strep Throat?

Not this lady.

And then there was District Council, the Women's Ministry Mother's Day event, my Parents coming to visit 😀 And The Muffin's Parents coming and THEN Josiah's birth great-grandparents coming....

Shew!

It was all wonderfully, mad, busy and fun!

But I. Am. Tired.

Or "Tarred" as we say in the hills.

Somehow (and I was talking about this with my Momma)...I missed May. I know stuff happened. LOTS of stuff happened, but I don't remember much of it. I was too busy. Too sick. Just plain worn slick.

I don't want my summer to be one that happened while I wasn't looking!

So I've decided that I need to take action. I've got my trusty spiral notebook and sparkly gel pens. I'm making a list. Checking it twice.

I know. Vacation Bible Study is coming up. The church picnic. Father's Day and then Cousin Camp!

I'm writing a history course and something else that I can't list off the top of my head (it's good I know it!). However, I don't want to neglect sitting on front porch. Trips down to the Dairy Queen for a Sugar Free Dilly Bar. Walks on a summer evening and iced tea.

I want to make a tomato and zucchini frittata  so Josiah and The Muffin can complain about it. I want to start my annual summer mystery novel marathon. Who should I read this year? Christie? Perry? Funke?

If I have learned anything in my years on the planet (all 29 of them), I have learned that you have to savor those little moments. Take advantage of those simple things that don't seem like they would matter in the big picture.

I don't do a great job of it all the time...but I sure have fun catching up.

Dream a Little Dream (with me)

Hello, my friends. I am continuing my goal of  "republishing" some of those blog posts that have been forgotten in the sparkly (yet sometimes foggy) vaults in my blog. These are posts that need just a little love...maybe they didn't get as many views as I felt as they deserved.

Such as this one...It might seem like a bunch of self-pitying rambling...I do that fairly well. But considering of what has transpired in my life lately, it was a good reminder for me personally. It is a good time to revisit some of those dreams...though you will be happy to know that we know own a car with properly working air conditioning.

It's the little things.

There was an offer that came to me for a free Kindle book the other day.

Give me the words "Free" and "Kindle" and I'm all over it. I actually get offers for free Kindle books every day, but this one was special. It was a book on "How To Hypnotize Yourself." Hmm. Sounds really useful. Actually it sounds strange. How did this person get published? And what do I have to do to get my own book entitled "You Skinny People Shut Up You Know Diddley" a little love?

Of course it would help if I had more than one chapter written of "You Skinny People Shut Up You Know Diddley" written.

Sigh.

It appears as if my writing aspirations are going about as well as my weight loss aspirations, my attempts at crochet and my dream of (just once) having a car in which the air conditioning actually works. Not to mention the heating. You can see where this is going.

Did you ever have something that you wanted so badly that you didn't know how badly you wanted it until you didn't have it? Did that make sense? I have quite a list of wants or dreams or goals. Some of them are pretty impossible. A few are kind of doable. But the few that are really important to me? I might as well want to go to the moon. (which I don't).

So here are a few things on my "Dream List." You might be surprised.

1. I want to finish my education. Believe it or not, I am a terrific student. And I really like it. I was on an academic scholarship for all but one semester of the 15 semesters or so I was in college. Don't be afraid. I'm really not a brainiac. I am just really good at pretending to be really smart. (you do realize I am prone to exaggerate...if I had 15 semesters of college (especially fulltime hours) under my belt I wouldn't be whining about finishing my education...just thought I would clarify that)

2. I want another kid. If not for my faulty ovaries and a tricky heart I would have a whole parcel of kids. I don't want to think about this one too much. I am so blessed to have my boy. Infertility isn't something I like to focus on...It's broken my heart.

3. I want a Cricut. Is that too much to ask for? Just a Cricut. I feel the need for an electronic cutter in my life. So I'm shallow. And really practical. Do you know what I could do with a Cricut?

4. I want to travel somewhere other than Branson. Okay. So we live in the beautiful Ozarks. And traveling is expensive and really hard on me, but I get tired of just reading about places other people visit. But truthfully at this point even a vacation to Branson (which is only 30 miles away) sounds pretty good...sometimes you just need a little vaycay...where nobody knows your name.

5. I want to write and have it mean something. I am not looking to write the Great Novel. After all, "You Skinny People You Shut Up You Know Diddley" isn't necessarily "J.D Salinger or Harper Lee" kind of material. I just want to write something encouraging...something that makes someone smile.

6. Speaking of Skinny People. I want to be one of you. I used to be one of You. And I liked it. I don't like being fluffy. I want to be healthy and trim and confidant. This one is one of the harder ones. You wouldn't think it would be considering some of the things that has happened to me in my life. I had to learn to walk again. That was easy compared to this whole weightloss adventure/journey/wilderness.

I really struggled with even giving those "dreams" a voice. Well, maybe not the dream of owning a Cricut. That is just my pitiful attempt at reminding The Studly Muffin how much I would like one.

Anyhoo. If I talk about the things that I think are "lacking" am I acknowledging the discontent in my life and not the blessings? Or am I motivating myself to reach for a few of these dreams? I guess sometimes you just have to go for it. This doesn't mean necessarily that I should start making plans for my European Vacation. Or my book tour.

So think about some things your list. Are they doable? Are they things you need to make peace with not doing? This is something I need to think about for myself. Thankfully, I can rely on God to push me when I need pushing and giving me peace when my "glass" looks a little empty.

Undocumented (for reals)

Yesterday morning I had a melt down.

In a bank.

In public.

I couldn't help myself.

You see, I am currently an undocumented citizen of the United States of America.

Shhhh. Don't tell anybody.

It begin a few months ago when the Indiana BMV (DMV in  my ancestral home of Missouri) declared that my marriage license was not an "official" marriage license and I needed to send off for a new one.

I am pretty sure I am legally married. However, they wanted some kind of seal on my pretty marriage license.

What.Ever.

At the time, I was at the Indiana DMV  BMV is get my Indiana Driver's License. I brought in the necessary paperwork/documents and even had to take a "knowledge" test to prove that I know the difference between a stop sign and a yield sign.

I took the test and after finding out I needed more information/an official marriage license I tucked all of my necessary paperwork/documents into a file folder to be worked on later in the week.

And then I started feeling reaaally bad. My blood pressure shot up to stroke level (I'm blaming it on the Indiana DMV BMV) and I set aside that whole driver's license business.

And then.

I couldn't find that handy dandy file folder with all of my necessary paperwork/documents in it.

My driver's license.

My social security card.

My pretty (un)official marriage license.

AND my birth certificate.

I couldn't just pop down to the courthouse to get a birth certificate reissued either.

I was born in Nicaragua in the early 70's. I have to get any copies of my birth certificate from the State Department.

I know this because the last time I needed a copy was in 2006. That copy has Condoleeza Rice's name on it.

True story.

So after doing doing some research on the whole gnarly process, I gathered the necessary documents and proceeded to find a notary public who could verify that I am who said I am.

Do you know that a notary public will not verify anyone's identification without a PHOTO ID?

Problem.

I DON'T HAVE A PHOTO ID! I threw it away with my social security card, marriage license and birth certificate.

And we come to my melt down at the bank.

My Poor Muffin. He was with me. I could tell he vacillated between feeling sorry for me and helpless and then feeling uncomfortable because I was crying in the bank lobby.

Eventually, we went to call on someone who had helped us with our health insurance when we first got into town. It was deemed that we would just do the best we could.

All of it rests now on The Muffin's word of honor. He has had to sign certain statements declaring that he can vouch for my existence.

Am I who I say I am?

Good. Grief.

I can't even get a library card in my new town.

You can't understand how devastating this is for me.

I am going to have to turn in my Nerd card now.

Unless I threw it away with the rest of my identification.

Four Eyes: Learning to look past what you can see

Good morning, my friends.

Today I am bringing back another blog post I have written. This one is from 2012. It showed up in my Facebook feed this morning and out of curiosity I clicked on the link. I have been struggling, myself, recently with some issues (health related) that have crept back into my life. I have to say that while I am being proactive and trying not to complain too much, I have had some questions.

Why now? When we've had such a change in our lives.
What do I do? I need wisdom.
How can I keep my problems from consuming me? I want to focus on the Problem Solver...not my problems.

I hope you enjoy it.

I am really nearsighted. So much so that without my contacts in I am incapacitated. I can see shapes and colors, but that's about it. I started wearing glasses when I was in 2nd grade and got contacts when I was 15. Changed my life.

Thankfully, my contact prescription has not changed much over the past 2 or 3 years. I am at a -11.50 in both eyes and they don't completely correct my vision.

Anyhoo. I had an appointment with my Eye Doctor today (whom I absolutely love). She is one of those energetic gals who loves what she does and has this contagious fascination with all things Optical. I am always a little more than impressed with women in science so I always enjoy visiting with her. Plus, she is so excited to see me come." Ah! The Crazy Nearsighted One Who I Have To Warn About My Rollie Chair Everytime She Comes!" Let me just put it out there. Backless Rollie Chairs are a sin. Especially for blind girls with gimpy hips. I can't tell you how many times I have about rolled myself out of that particular chair.

Enough of my Backless Rollie Chair Rant. As with every visit, the lab tech took me off to a little room to have me remove my contacts. And since I haven't had a pair of glasses I could actually see out of since the early 90's I groped my way out of the little room and sat myself down in the waiting room. Next to some guy in a red shirt. Sorry guy. I didn't get a really good look at you. Though I am sure you were kind of weirded out by the bizarre wide-eyed looks I was sending your way. Those of you who suffer from any kind of myopia will understand. "Maybe if I try and focus hard enough that thing I am looking at will suddenly appear." I'm sure I looked like a nut. But I'm used to it.

After a few minutes of that, I was escorted to "test room." You know. The one where they perform all the little tests. I usually get pretty stoked with any test. I am a bit of an overachiever. Even these vision tests. I don't care if I'm practically blind! I'm going to be the best practically blind test taker you've ever had! And what is up with the glaucoma test! I have taken that test every year of my life for the past 33 years of my life. I still practically jump out of my Rollie Chair everytime that little puff of air shoots in my eye. It's a tricky one.

So I took my tests and settled back into the waiting room (I just followed a white lab coat into what I assume was the waiting room). The red shirt guy was gone. So other than various white lab coats floating around the room there was nothing I could really "look" at. I tried my Kindle. I held it up to my nose and changed the font to the largest font. Well that helped (insert sarcastic sigh). It made the font so big that only 4 or 5 words showed up on the page...and I couldn't even see those. So I passed the time checking for split ends (did you know that extremely near-sighted people can see incredible details up really close?) and marveling at the condition of my cuticles. They are really bad. I think I need an emergency manicure intervention.

Well. It came to attention a bit later that I had failed one of my "vision tests." The peripheral vision one. Don't despair. My doctor let me take it later with my contacts in and I passed with flying colors. What I didn't do so well on was the whole eye chart business. But I never do. I have resigned myself to the fact that I will never be able to see past the 4th line. While I was struggling with the 5th line, I had an inspiration! I have seen this particular chart so many times throughout the years. Why do I still struggle with that 5th line? Why do I keep guessing?  I'm tempted to google "eye exam" chart so I can finally see what is below the 4th line once and for all.

I did a little contemplating while I was sitting in the waiting room investigating the appalling condition of my cuticles. I think sometimes we can have a hard time "seeing" things for what they truly are. Instead of taking in the whole picture we focus on that tiny speck or that single dot. And everything around the tiny speck and single dot becomes blurry and unfocused. We miss so much around us. So much beauty and opportunity lost because we become focused only on what we think we are cable of seeing. Or what we want to see.

Here is something else to consider. We can't see the whole plan God has for us. We might consider a trial we are experiencing as something horrible and unnecessary. We can't see that it is building our faith, shining God's light and ministering to some one else. Remember...You might not be able to see the beginning from the end...but God does.

Oh well. That was my bit of reflection for the day. It was short lived. I am wearing a brand spankin' new pair of contacts (I wear the breathable kind that you have to change regularly...sounds like a Depends). I have more coming in the mail and I am fairly certain I know where I have stashed my cuticle oil. One never knows what kind of "enlightenment" one will find at the Eye Doctor.

Candy Sunsets

Hello friends.

I'm taking a few ancient blog posts and dusting them off. Most have not had a lot of views, but I still think they are worth looking at.

 If I am not mistaken this post used the same sentiment in a devotion I wrote for a church cookbook. This particular post I wrote at a difficult time. It was good to read it again.

I had to make a Wal-mart run tonight (imagine that). 

When I got out of the car I got a really good view of the setting sun. It almost seemed shameful that I had to rush and couldn't sit and enjoy it. It looked like one of those hard cinnamon candies...you know the ones.  

They come in butterscotch, too.

 I can't tell you how many sweet little old men have handed me (or my son) one of the butterscotch candies in my life. They have been used at church to win Josiah's affections many times (and it usually works). 

As I wheeled my way around Wal-mart...pushing my cart for all it's worth...I thought about how despite the strange and difficult circumstances that we have found ourselves in, I really have enjoyed the summer so far. Last summer was almost a blur...it was stressful and not any fun at all. I just "existed". I am grateful that I am at that point in my healing that I can look past some of my day to day worries and truly appreciate things like cinnamon candy suns, fireflies, fresh ripe tomatoes and the tall sunflowers in my dad's garden that nod their heads in my direction every time I look their way. 

What a precious gift. I can tell you that it takes effort not to let worry or the cares of life overwhelm you to the point that you can't see the nodding sunflowers or candy suns for all the "stuff." I have been guilty of letting my worries take over "me." I have been guilty of becoming my troubles...no matter how great or small. I like this way better.

There is a certain amount of freedom that comes with enjoying your life and all those candy sunsets.

Snow Day

Like many parts of the country this week, we’ve had snow.

You must know that The Studly Muffin ADORES snow. The first year we were married he took great delight in wheeling around a snow covered parking lot while I clutched the door handle for dear life.

I don’t know what I was expecting to do. Maybe jump out if things got too hairy?

The part of the country that I grew up in doesn’t get as much snow as my new home in Indiana.

We got even less snow when we lived outside of Memphis, Tennessee.

My friends.

They use to cancel school if there was even a hint of snow.

My own growing up years were spent in the hollers and hills of North Central Arkansas. If we had a snow day, it meant that the buses couldn’t climb those hollers and hills in the snow. AND more than likely, other than the tracks made by emergency personnel, hearty out-of-towners and my Dad (who will drive in anything), the roads were virtually untouched.

Our snow days were spent stomping about the woods, making scrawny snowmen and trying to find a good spot to dig up snow for snow ice cream. We lived on farm, ya’ll. You understand.

Other snow day activities included curling up with a good book, watching marathons of western movies that were playing on our local PBS station (them were the days) and drinking gallons of homemade hot chocolate.

I’ve noticed that those of us who grew up with those kinds of snow days kind of lost our way as adults.

Of course, we’ve had obligations.

Work, children and Wal-mart.

This week, I decided to return to some of the snow day pleasures I experienced growing up. Or at least adapted them.

Because my work is virtual and mostly involves writing words on a computer, I simply added a fuzzy blanket to the couch. I put a sprinkle of cinnamon and a spray of whipping cream in my coffee.

Oh, yes I did.

Josiah lit every candle we had in the house and we settled down to read Greek Mythology (we are doing a semester), early Bible history and a couple chapters in Psalms.

I let the rest of the world run to Wal-mart and made do with what I had in the house.

I made my family warm and comforting meals. And I once again curled up with good books and good music.  The Muffin and I spent the evenings enjoying our annual marathon of Downton Abbey. 

Is Mr. Bates the Edwardians answer to John Wayne? 

Hmm.

I can’t tell you how much I needed my Snow Days.

So, my friends. My advice to you is to embrace your Snow Day. Curl up with a book. Make a pot of soup. Go stomp out in the snow with your kids. Snuggle with your spouse. 

Enjoy.