Baking Goodies

It doesn't surprise anybody who knows me, but I love to cook. I also love to bake. It's a good thing that I have a job and can't devote more time to these two hobbies, because I also like to eat the things I cook and bake. I would be "roughly the size of a barge." As soon as it turns cold outside here in northern Indiana, my oven gets a workout. There are apple pies made from fresh picked, locally grown apples. There is pumpkin pie, sometimes made from pumpkins from my own garden, but not recently. There are dozens and dozens of cookies. There are cakes and brownies.  I think my favorite thing to make and eat around the holidays are my homemade crescent rolls. They have a ton of butter in them, so no wonder they melt in your mouth. I got the recipe from a cookbook my mother-in-law gave to me a long time ago called "Nutbread and Nostalgia" which was put together by the Junior League in South Bend.  You have to use real butter in the rolls, not margarine. I suppose they are mostly bad for your health, but they are oh so good in your mouth!

Another thing that I really love this time of year is home made beef stew. I think if I were going to overeat, I would rather overeat savory foods rather than sweet ones. I usually fill up on a meal and don't have room for dessert. Beef stew is like the ultimate comfort food for me. For some reason, it always reminds me of my mother. She is the one who taught me how to make it. I don't have a recipe. It turns out a little different every time, yet consistenly yummy! When it is cold outside, there is nothing as wonderful as coming into the house and having the savory fragrance of beef stew greeting me from atop the stove or in the crockpot. It's still good a week later. (Insert words of nursery rhyme here..some like it hot, some like it cold, some like it in the pot nine days old!) I am hungry now, and it's only 9:00 a.m.!
At any rate, this is the time of year that I kick the baking into high gear. There has to be a turkey, at least that is what I think there has to be. Sometime during the season, even if I am not hosting the gathering, I have to roast a turkey. There have to be the crescent rolls. I have made two batches already this season. We need at least three kinds of cookies. There are the chocolate chips, the peanut butter with chocolate kisses, and there should be cookie cutter cookies decorated with colored frostings. Tricia will want my pumpkin swirl cheesecake with the ginger snap cookie crust. I want pumpkin pies and almost always, pecan pie. Those are just the basics for the season. I somehow find time to do all of this from the end of November to the beginning of December. Well, I feel I have to do this. IT MUST BE DONE!

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Summer on the Flip Side

Our county fair is almost over, and so is July. Face it, folks, we are on the back side of summer. There is still plenty of time to enjoy it, I hope! I just wanted to call your attention to the fact that we are on the slippery slope into fall. None of us would mind fall so much if it weren't followed by winter. I always start thinking about that this time of year, maybe because of my melancholy trend.

It's all good, though. I love every season, for some reason. I love summer because we get to run around with no clothes on...I mean, barely! At least we get to fore go the coats and hats and scarves and sweaters and even stockings! I love the fresh vegetables and watermelon and strawberries. I love family reunions, county and state fairs. I love, love, LOVE Indiana tomatoes! I love fall because of the rustic colors in the woods and the fields. I love the cooler days and even cooler nights. I love seeing the farmers in the fields, harvesting. I love the fall parties. I love winter because I have always enjoyed snow, and I enjoy it even more when I can go ski on it. And cold, if you are dressed for it, can be enjoyable, believe it or not. (Just not extreme cold, with blowing, drifting snow. But we won't think about that right now.) And I love spring for the fresh air and increased sunshine, flowers, and just the end of winter/beginning of summer.

No matter what time of year it is, I think we should all always observe it to the best of our ability. Too many times, we get wrapped up with work or business and we forget to pay attention to the day. Me! I am so guilty of this. I dread something that is going to happen tomorrow, and I forget to enjoy today! I forget to tell the people I love that I love them. Intensely! I forget to make my surroundings beautiful. I forget to make my co-workers feel brighter. You know, sometimes we are the sunshine, and we forget to turn on our rays! SHINE PEOPLE! Let's shine!

So, here we are on the flip side of summer, and I just wanted to remind you, again, to make every day count!

Newsies

Every morning since about the middle of May, I have been getting up around 3:15 a.m. For two hours, it was more in the beginning and always more on Sundays, I am on a race against the clock to get my newspaper route delivered. I roll out of bed, take care of bathroom duties, take my thyroid pill, pull on some underclothes, pants and a shirt, and I leave to go down to Harding's Friendly Market to sit in the car and wait for my papers to arrive. When they get there, I thank the driver and wish him a good day, take my papers to my car and bag them and put them in a box. I deliver some South Bend Tribunes, but mostly, The Elkhart Truth.

Most days, out on that route so early in the morning, I feel like some sort of sub-human. My husband thinks I have the anointing to do this job. But, honestly, it's just a job. I'm only doing it for the money. And it isn't much money, either. It really isn't much once you deduct the gas mileage and wear and tear on the car. BUT, it is extra money. It's money we would not have if I didn't get up in the morning and go do this. (Sometimes I think I must just be crazy to keep doing this.) I don't really like getting up so early in the morning, but it beats staying up at night working at Meijer's or waitressing after I leave from my other day job.

You do not meet many new people when you are doing a paper route. You hardly have any human interaction whatsoever. If you do, it isn't likely to be pleasant. Earlier on when I was still learning the route, I met Mr. Grumpy Pants. He was waiting, barefoot, by his mailbox in one of the subdivisions where he lives and I deliver.  I smiled and handed him his paper and said, "Good morning!" He just scowled and said, "You sure are late with your papers." I apologized, "I'm sorry. We received them an hour and 15 minutes late today." He didn't say anything else, he had already turned to go back to his nice, comfortable chair to read his newspaper, I guess, before I could even finish my apology. His real name is...oh, it doesn't matter; he will forever be Mr. Grumpy Pants to me.

I did meet one very nice lady while delivering papers. Her name is Lucille. One morning, while I was out delivering the papers to the retirement center where she lives, she was waiting for me. By the time I get there, it is usually 5:15 to 5:30 a.m. She was waiting because she wanted to correct me. I had been told early on in the delivery process, to just leave the papers for the retirement center at the front desk and leave. Lucille explained to me that not every resident that was receiving papers there was a spry as she was. (Lucille walks with a cane. She told me she can "race right along.") Many of the residents are quite handicapped. If I leave the papers at the desk, she told me everyone else helps themselves to the paper, whether they subscribe or not. Sometimes the true subscribers never even see their papers. She insisted that I must walk them around to every room. She walked me around and showed me what rooms all the six newspapers were to be delivered to. She was there every morning after that for a few weeks. She would smile when I came in and tell me "Good Morning." I would smile back and say, "Good morning, Lucille." That was so nice, I felt a little more human, then. But I felt sorry for her, getting up so early every morning and waiting for me to get there. I told her one morning that she didn't have to do it. She said she didn't mind, but one day soon after that, she wasn't there anymore.

Anyway, I am going to try to keep this up for a year. Some days I get quite tired of it all. If someone complains because I am late with the papers, I lose $2.00. I only get 16 cents to deliver each paper, every single day. I try not to give anyone reason to complain. But I don't control when the papers get there, I can't deliver them until they are delivered to me. And sometimes they are delivered to me quite late! Jay helps me on Sundays. Until recently, though, he has had a job that he had to leave for before I would get done with my route on the weekdays. I learned to do it by myself and have gotten pretty quick at it. So, I'm a "Newsie", for now. Think of me, if you are ever awake at 3:15 a.m., and you get to roll over and go back to sleep for a few more hours!

Folk Tales

Upon pondering what I might next write on my blog, I realized that I have always loved folk tales. You have heard them; stories passed on from generation to generation, usually meant to teach a lesson, but, sometimes, just to entertain.

This is the story of Sleepy the Donkey. When I was a girl, I had an undying love and desire for horses. I had an imaginary horse named "Candy". Since she could be anything I wanted, being imaginary, she was actually a flying horse. My parents knew of this affection for horses of mine, but we were too poor to own a horse. When there are five children in the family and sundry dogs, (Dad raised beagles) you have more important things to spend money on than trying to keep a horse.

One day, Dad packed all of us into the car. We were "going for a drive".  Out in the country, Dad pulled into a house near a railroad crossing. Someone lived here that Dad worked with, and he wanted to stop and talk for a few minutes. This was going to be cause for patience on the part of the rest of us. Little did I know what he had up his sleeve. He came back to the car with his friend leading a little donkey. He didn't seem so little at the time, really. But I have seen pictures since, and he was little. The friend explained that this was Sleepy the donkey.

Now, you must understand something. Our Dad was a rather stern and unaffectionate man when we were young kids. He was very quick to discipline us, if we were out of line, and you knew you did not sass or talk back to Dad. He never said "I love you" in words to us. But that day, my Dad was trying to show me that he had my desires in mind. Yes, the donkey was for all of us kids, but I always thought of him as more MINE than any of the others.

Sleepy was the most contrary animal. Dad's friend had explained they named him "Sleepy" because he had a trick of faking sleep when he did not want to be ridden. That wasn't his only trick. If we wanted to ride him, there were lots of tricks we had to watch out for. He kicked up both heels if you came near him with the bridle. You had to avoid walking behind him. He bit if you weren't watching. But we were all determined enough, we rode him!

One day, my brother, David, and I wanted to ride the donkey. We got him bridled, and we decided that, instead of riding him around the farm yard, we would let him out and ride on the driveway and maybe out in the (harvested) bean field. We always rode bare back, there was no saddle. My brother got on and I climbed up behind him. Sleepy took off. He would not be guided. He ran off to the back yard and was running toward the clothesline to run under it so he could wipe us off his back. But we were clever enough to duck. As soon as we both ducked down, Sleepy slammed on the brakes, and we went tumbling down his neck, over his head onto the ground. Mom was standing there and she got a laugh out of that, after she saw we were okay.

Another trick of Sleepy the donkey was to walk over to a fence or by the side of the barn and walk so close as to try to crush the rider's leg between the fence or barn and his body. I would always pull up the threatened appendage when he would do this. But of course, that put me off my balance if he decided to buck, which he did, sometimes. I was thrown from his back more than once.

Another day, I was out in the barnyard riding the donkey by myself. On bright, sunny days, it was just the thing to do for entertainment. On this particular farm, there was a loose piece of fence that served as a makeshift gate between the barnyard and the middle pasture. You could pull the fence across the opening and fasten it to the barn. That fence was shut, but the donkey had worked his way under it so many times that it was pretty easy for him to walk under it, when he didn't have a rider. He decided to go under it that day with the rider on. I was wiped off and fell WHUMP flat on my back. It knocked the wind out of me and I could not breathe. I started to panic because I couldn't breathe or make a sound, and I thought that I was going to die. I finally got a breath, and then I got mad at that donkey. I caught him and locked him in the barn for his crime!

There was many an episode of escape for the donkey. The fences on the farm we rented were fraught with holes and bad posts, and our donkey was a regular Houdini. One night he got out and went trotting around the neighborhood. My Dad got home from his second shift job, when one of the neighbors called to inform him that Sleepy was in his yard. There was another donkey and two ponies that lived the next farm down, and that was where Sleepy was visiting. Well, Dad went off to try to catch him. Several times he would get within reach of catching him and the donkey would spin and kick up his heels and take off.

The situation was serious. If the donkey ran out in traffic and someone hit him, Dad knew he would be liable. He reluctantly came back to the house and got his twelve-gauge shot gun and went donkey hunting. Very early the next morning I heard Mom and Dad in the kitchen talking quietly over coffee. Dad was telling Mom something about he "shot him several times" and "finally, he just gave up." I got up and went into the kitchen to ask what had happened, and Dad told me the whole story. When it became light, I went to the barn. My donkey had bullet holes all over. He had blood dripping from many wounds. I began the task of washing him and picking out buckshot. But, you know, that ornery donkey survived that episode. He wasn't really any worse for wear. The fences got patched. I think he never got out again after that.

One day a guy came by the house. He had been to our neighbor's and traded a pony for his donkey. He wanted to trade us a pony for a donkey, too. I don't know what he wanted with our old, contrary donkey. But a pony was a lot closer to looking like a horse, and the trade was made. That was the last I knew of "Sleepy the Donkey." Then began the adventures of "Fury the Pony". But I will save that for another day.

Ode to Mowing

  My dad gave us a used mower, which I am very thankful for. The grass in our yard gets pretty tall. Our landlord doesn't like it if we go for a week without mowing. And, besides, I think mown grass looks good.  But I was mowing pretty shortly after I received the new mower and I started thinking about Shakespeare. Why is that? I don't know when I started doing this, but sometimes when I am doing something mundane, I like to picture historical figures doing these same things. I guess that it is a form of entertainment to me. So, I think of Abraham Lincoln changing dirty diapers. I think of Florence Nightingale and Julia Roberts doing dishes. I sometimes think of Albert Einstein sitting on the toilet, maybe with diarrhea. I don't think I'm weird to do this. I bet there are other people whose minds work this way.  (But, if not, it's okay.)

    Anyway, I was thinking of Shakespeare, and wondering if he ever had to mow a yard. I don't even know if they had such machines as mowers back in the 1500's. I decided that he did not ever mow. Maybe he pruned hedges, or rose bushes. I am almost certain that he pruned rose bushes and almost as certain that he did not mow yards. I believe that if he had ever mowed a yard, he would have somehow worked it in to one of his writings. He would have had "The Ode to Mowing" or maybe a sonnet. But he didn't. He did mention a rose in one of his writings; "A rose, by any other name..."

   I am convinced that Shakespeare would have written about mowing if he ever did mow. See, when you are out there mowing grass, you have all this time to think. It doesn't take much thought to cut grass, at least, not the way I do it. So you push the mower and you think of other things. (Like the question, "Did Shakespeare ever cut grass?") You think about what you did the week before. You think about how all this rain we are having this spring makes the grass grow faster, and that makes you have to mow more. You think about the fact that it is going to rain for the next three days, and the grass is going to grow again, and you will have to mow it again. How futile is mowing! (I think this would be the first and maybe the last,  line to Shakespeare's "Ode to Mowing".)

   Just saying.

In the Name of Fun

Once upon a time, a man that I know very well used to think that the fun thing to do was to get drunk. I am not going to tell you who the man is, and I will ask you not to ask, please. Anyway, when the man was young, from his late teens, the way he and his friends had fun was to get drunk. I cannot say how long this lasted. I think that there may have been a number of years. I lost track of him and his habits. I know that it was rather a lifestyle thing with him.

The years passed. Somewhere along the way the lifestyle changed and the alcohol was not so important anymore. But the damage had been done. I wouldn't tell you about it at all, would I, if there had not been repercussions? No, because there would be no story in that. A lot of people do things in their youth that they aren't proud of later. It just doesn't profit to talk about it, so we don't. But this is different. I am telling you about this because maybe it will be something that will profit you, if you are wise.

The man is older, but not much older, than me. I saw him last about 8 months ago. He didn't look too bad then. But that was before he started dialysis. It was before the doctors told his family that the cirrhosis in his liver had increased significantly. It was before the operation that he had on his stomach for (yet another) ulcer. One of the man's family members told me that he now looks like a holocaust survivor. He is skin and bones, his face is sunken in, he has dark circles around his eyes. He spends three days a week for several hours at a time hooked up to a kidney dialysis machine. I looked up kidney disease in the encyclopedia. It told me that the people who have lost a kidney or have kidney damage are kept alive by this machine.

Ever since I heard about this change that has come over the man in the last 8 months, whenever I have time to think about it; and even though I am trying not to, I think about him. I am sort of frightened for him. Though he is only a couple of years older than me, I fear he may have an untimely end. His health has gone away. I hope he doesn't read this, yet I am going to post it. I am posting it because there are too many people that I know who might need to pause and think when they drink. "What permanent damage might I be doing to my body?" Permanent damage can be done even when you think it's all in fun.

Of course, not everyone who drinks ends up with permanent liver damage, kidney failure and so forth. But, I ask you, why take the chance? I understand that there are some alcoholic beverages that can be, for some people, medicinal. Maybe moderation is the key. But, please, dear friends and loved ones, please take the time after you read this to evaluate your habits. If you have made it a lifestyle to drink, frequently or infrequently, please consider limiting yourself. Do a study about the risks of alcohol use. Don't judge your use by how much less often you get drunk than your friends. And don't just assume that you are not causing yourself harm, that you can "handle it".  I love you far too much to see you become like the man in my story. (Yes, he is a real person with a name and a family who loves him!) Don't be slowly killing yourself in the name of "fun".

Youngest Son Turns 27

Yesterday, as I was driving in to Mishawaka, the rain turned to rain-and-snow-mixed. It reminded me of the day 27 years ago when we were driving home from the birthing center where our dear Andrew Joseph had just hours earlier presented to the world.  It was the same kind of weather! How nostalgic for me. I remember it all so clearly. It doesn't seem like 27 years have really passed by.

Andy has always been a unique individual. He was the only one of my three children who did not breathe right away. It was just a little alarming to me that they were dragging out the oxygen tank for him, but he finally drew his first breath on his own. Since then, I must confess that Andy has done a lot of things that have been more than "a little alarming." He was the first one of my kids to ever break a bone (his right clavical), and the first one to ever have a concussion, (same accident, fell out of our parked van while we were taking down the balloon after a flight.) He went off on a back-packing trip all over Europe and parts of Asia in 2009 and 2010 for about five months. He was the first one of our kids to graduate from college, even though he is the youngest. He is probably the most out-going and people loving man you will ever want to know. He has his own very strong opinions, but he is not afraid to let you express yours. (Though, watch out, he is ready to argue any point.)

Andy is such a fun guy. He met lots of people on his trip and made fast friends out of them. This weekend, his birthday weekend, he is hosting some friends from Norway. He is taking them on a Viking Bar Crawl. I don't even really know what that is, but I am sure that his friends will have fun, because Andy planned it, and he knows how to have fun.

Andy has a wish to move out of the United States and be part of another culture. He took a lot of Japanese in college, at one time hoping to teach english in Japan. That, so far, has not worked out for him. He has been exploring other avenues to make his dream a reality. I have no doubt that some day he will do just that. I will miss him so much. I already do. But I want my kids to pursue their dreams and to be happy in life.

Happy Birthday, Andy!

Born to Work With Wood

It is just a shame in the day of manufactured housing and big box store cabinetry to know a true craftsman who cannot work his craft. See, that it what my husband is. He is an artist with wood. He created the kitchen you see in this photo. He designed it the old-fashioned way, with a pencil and an idea. True, he got a lot of the ideas about the design from the owner of the home, who knew what he wanted. But Jay put all the measurements together, designed the drawers to all work perfectly, the doors to all hang level, the cabinets to be sturdy, the island cabinet with it's hand made butcher block top...and in hickory wood with a natural finish. Then he built all of it, sanded every piece of wood through several processes. He put it all through his finish shop. I helped a little, and there was another guy at the time, helping. But Jay knew how it had to go together and how to finish it all and then install it. He was a wizard with wood.

This is a musical instrument called a hammered dulcimer. Jay made it. He made 24 of these when he was building them. He also made the cute little stand you see the instrument displayed on, which is adjustable so you can play the instrument while standing or while sitting. He also built the stool you see in the picture. He made a lot of those, too. I have a nice stool that he built at my bedside that I use for a table. It's very handy for keeping my water bottle and my thyroid medication on. Jay tells me that there are so many pieces and parts just in the stool and so much work in the stool alone. He would charge you $130.00 for the stool because of all the work he put into that. But, of course, you can go to Menards and buy one for about $25.00 on sale, so why would you pay $130.00 for this one?

See this table? The top opens and you can store things in it that you might like to display. You could put a hand gun collection in there, he would put a lock on there so it would be safe. Shhhhh, don't tell, but there is also a secret drawer on this table. Jay designed and built and finished this table, even the crazy legs! The legs are mahogany and the rest of the table is curly cherry. Have you even ever heard of curly cherry?

So, see, here we are, in this horrible economy, and all the craftsmen who build lovely things like these are being displaced. If they are lucky, they have a small shop where they can still build beautiful things, and maybe they can sell them and stay in business. If they are lucky. But, so many others, like Jay, have lost their very place in life. If Jay is not working with wood, then what else must he do? Perhaps, he can be a Security Guard. Oh, wait, he tried that. It didn't work out. Perhaps he can work at a trailer factory. Nope. They want people who can whip out ugly little wimpy cabinets in trailer factories. It doesn't matter if it is built to last, it has to just be built fast! Perhaps, just perhaps, he must go to McDonalds and flip hamburgers and fry french fries and come home at night smelling like grease. How very sad that he can't build beautiful things with wood and make a living doing that again. Maybe there is somewhere that he can go in this country and still do that. Maybe there still exists a place where they want things done the old fashioned way and where people don't want to buy the things to furnish their homes from Walmart. Maybe.

It is perplexing to me to see him try, time and again, to do something else. He must keep trying, and he does. But I know that Jay is not the only one who is in the same boat. There are men and women out there who used to build homes. Where are they now? There are very few homes being built, and you can bet the ones who are building them are barely eeking out their costs in building them. (See, there are a few people who still have money and they know that they have these guys over a barrel when the demand is so low for new homes; you can practically name your price!) The craftsmen also have families and bills to pay, and, if they can't do what they are accustomed to doing, what they have been trained to do, what they were born to do, then they become unskilled laborers for someone else. They are no longer independent, self-employed, masters of their trades. They have to go find labor and be happy possibly just working for minimum wages.

I shudder to think what will become of them. I hope, along with them, that things will soon pick back up again, and that they may happily go back to doing what they were born to do. But, I tend to be pessimistic about that happening any time soon. I keep thinking that it is in times like these when the creative thinker sees a new opportunity. What is that old saying "Necessity is the mother of invention." I keep thinking that this is the time to start some new enterprise. But what? What enterprise can you start with no money to invest and very poor credit (getting worse all the time)? We have friends that sell various things who would be glad to get us into their multi-level marketing schemes under them, of course. Been there, done that, not interested, thank you.

We are going to keep plugging away. We now agree that we must find more ways to cut costs and are going to need to move out of this nice, but too expensive place in Middlebury. We could probably make it on my income alone, if we had a smaller rent and less miles for me (or us, when he finds something again) to drive to work.  But how I miss the guy who was happy working with his wood.

Pondering Depression

Look up melancholy (the adjective) in your collegiate dictionary. (You do have one, right?) It's ok. I will wait while you go do that. I will be here, filing my nails. ....You're back? Did you see the synonyms list? Mine says they are "depression, dejection, gloominess." I have the World Book Thorndike Barnhart Dictionary here. Under definition number 3 of the noun melancholy it says: "one of the four humors, thought in ancient and medieveal physiology to be secreted by the kidney or spleen and to be the cause of such conditions as depression and gloominess: black bile:" and then a quote from Shakespeare: "to purge melancholy."

I have struggled with depression off and on for years. Sometimes I really wallow in it. But I have never, until recently, actually felt it as a physical, maybe even chemical, sensation. Let me see if I can explain this. I was recently involved in an activity. Shoot. I may as well tell you what it was, because most of you who know me will guess anyway. I was auditioning for a show. (Future and past directors, please don't hold this against me, I am just trying to illustrate something here.) I thought that I had a really good audition. The day after auditions were done, persons began to post on Facebook for which parts they had been cast. But I did not get a call. When it became apparent that, not only had I not got any of the parts that I wanted, but that I might not be cast at all, whoa! Something happened to me. I mean, I have been down before, but this was way different.

As I am thinking about how I might describe what happened to me, I can only think of the body's response to alcohol. Now, keep in mind, I have never been drunk. I rarely ever even drink alcohol, but I had an experience with it one time that I think could serve to demonstrate what happened to me when I had this last bout of depression. We were at a friend's birthday party. The host's daughter had prepared some Jello shots. I had not had Jello shots before. They sounded pretty harmless to me. Hey, there's always room for Jello, right? The instructions were that you were supposed to drink the whole thing, in one gulp--shoot it down---as it were. So I did. Yeah. It went straight down, and when I put the empty shot cup down, my head was spinning, and I knew I better just sit still for a while and not try to do anything. That alcohol was in my stomach, but it was doing something in my head. Just that fast.

In that same way, that day when I went to bed and had not been called to be cast, this awful sensation came over me. It was in the pit of my stomach, but it messed up my head. And here is the weird part, even the next day when I found that I had been cast for a part, after all, it didn't go away. It hung on for several more days. It was like that "black bile" had poisoned me. I could not shake it. I wasn't drinking anything, but I felt it leaking into my soul, or my body, I don't know which: it was like liquid depression. I couldn't stop it, not by praying, not by trying to think "happy thoughts", nothing. I still don't think I am fully recovered from it, really. I have found that beautiful music helps some, and laughing helps. But, honestly, I seriously wonder if I should be on Prozac.

I hate the idea of taking another pill every day. I wonder if it isn't so bad to just let nature take its course, sometimes. Maybe I can be depressed sometimes, and it will be okay. I think that there must be natural things that I can do to fight back. I wonder about the music thing. Why does it seem to help? Also, exercise, as long as I don't get too exhausted, seems like a natural lift. (Endorphins?)

I was recently in a seminar where we were being taught the principles for successful living. One of the things the leader said was something we should not do is discuss our poor health with anyone, except a doctor. And I know that there should be limits about even things one blogs about. So, maybe I have overstepped a boundary, and if I have I really must apologize. But, I also think it is possible that there are people out there who also struggle with depression. And I think there are people who are far more depressed about things that are far more serious than things that bother me right now. I am reasonably healthy, have a home, a family that loves me...some people have none of these things and they are still cheerful!

My dear friends, if you do struggle with depression, I just want you to know you are not the only one. Maybe you have found coping mechanisms. (I guess that the even the Bible suggests that this is why some people drink and get drunk.) I think we learn from each other, if we are willing to share the needs. I love people, really love people in my life right now. I think we are stronger for having shown our weaknesses, and can be made even stronger for sharing what makes us strong.

So, in pondering depression, mine and maybe yours, I think it is fair to say it may not be the last time I raise the topic. It's kind of like one of my Weight Watchers leaders used to say about the struggle with being overweight "You are never cured, but you can get it under control". So, more or less, I guess that applies to depression, too. Maybe there is no cure, but there are ways to get it under control. Peace!

Mountains

You who are fortunate enough to live within the sight of Mountains, I envy you. I didn't travel much at all when I was young. Until I got married, I had only been out of the state about twice, and then just to Illinois and Michigan. The first time I went out West was in 1993. When we got to Montana, where I had my very first encounter with real Mountains, it was love at first sight!

Mountains. What is is about them? I don't know. Recently I wrote about getting out into the woods. I do love woods. I can't imagine not living where there are woods to ramble in. But oh, how I would love to live within a hour's drive of some beautiful mountains.

In October of 2008 we traveled to Calgary, Alberta Canada. Jay had closed down and sold his cabinet shop in July of that year. We had posted his resume on Monster. A head hunter from Texas found it. She was looking to fill a position up in Fort Macleod, near Lethbridge in Alberta Canada. After many phone calls between the headhunter, and then the business owner, we decided to go up for an in person interview.  Fort Macleod was a town that would really remind you of something from a Texas western. I did have a picture of the bar where we stopped to eat there, which really looked like something out of an old Western. And the wind the first day we were there was tremendous. The interview was extensive, and I was there for the whole thing. Fort Macleod was within sight of mountains, but it wasn't like Calgary, where we were staying.

After that first day of the interview, we decided to to see Banff. Well, I tell you the truth, if I could transport myself to favorite places where I have been in the blink of an eye (you know, like "I Dream Of Genie" style), the place I would go first and stay the longest would be Banff! It is surrounded by the Great Canadian Rocky Mountains. The city itself is pristine. The possibility for wildlife sightings are tremendous, and maybe a little frightening. (I have always been afraid of bears!) Did I mention that is positively surrounded by mountains? (Yes, I did.) The pictures that we took there are amongst my most favorite pictures that I own. My only sorrow is that we did not have any of our kids with us, so it's just Jay and me in the photos.

Jay was not finally selected for the job in Fort Macleod. He was offered a job in a cabinet shop in Calgary. That company put in paper work with the government and we started preparing to move to Alberta. But, alas, the government papers came back that the company must try harder to fill the position with a Canadian. So, our dreams of moving to Calgary and living near Banff turned to just so much dust.

Sometimes, when I think about how excited I was to be moving to Canada, I think that it was just wonderlust. Any place other than here is more exciting to be. When you grew up here, anywhere seems better than here. But I still think that I would like to live every day where I could look out my window and see mountains. I know that some people feel that way about the Ocean. Some people feel that way about lakes. And those are great places, too. I have never been to Hawaii. Maybe I would feel the same about that.
But, when you consider natural disasters, especially in light of recent events, oceans, to me, are a little more frightening. Earthquakes move mountains, I guess. In the end, maybe no place is really safe from natural disasters. You just have to be ready to survive or not.

Anyway, I hope someday to live near mountains. I am still considering the idea of moving to Alberta. If that can't work, we do have a dear friend and the best man from our wedding that lives in Idaho. I think that might be a good place to build our final home. I don't know. We may just be in Indiana until we die. But it doesn't hurt to dream of something different, does it? I will always dream of living in those mountains!

Ponderings on Public Loss: Camp Singing Hills

I did not grow up in Elkhart county, nor have I ever been a Girl scout. (I do like their cookies, though. ; ) Recent developments or lack thereof have caused the powers that be to put the local Girl Scout Camp, Camp Singing Hills up for auction. I drive by the southern edge of the camp on the back roads that I often take on my way home to Middlebury. It makes me physically ill to drive past there right now.

The beautiful woodsy acreage of the camp has been divided up into lots for the auction. There are 10 acre lots, 6.7 acre lots and so on. I do wish that I had a great big gob of money right now with which I could purchase the entire place. Honestly, I do.  I must not be the only one affected by the thought of this beautiful place being divided into parcels. When we walked down into Middlebury Tuesday night, the sign at the beginning of this post is in all the windows of the shops and storefronts. I fear it is too late for them to save it from being turned into a residential area.

Camp Singing Hills, what memories I have of the place, even if I wasn't a Girl Scout growing up here. I love just driving by there. The place is loaded with wildlife. Almost any evening in any season, you can spot white tailed deer there. Once three wild turkeys crossed the road in front of me on that southern edge while I was driving into Bristol for a rehearsal.

When we were newlyweds, I remember my father-in-law driving us back into the camp after a dinner at Essenhaus. He had done some of the additions onto the dining room there. Jerry Krull is also a fan of nature. We saw deer on that visit, my first visit to the camp.

Another time, when our kids were young, we were there with a bunch of friends from church for a weekend of cross country skiing. We rented the lodge. It was a great snow weekend. There were sleds and toboggans. There really are hills and Camp Singing Hills. It was so much  fun sliding down those hills on the sleds. We rented skis and went out on the trails to cross country. There were also indoor games for the children when they were cold or too wet from snow adventures and needed to warm up and dry off. We fixed a chili supper. I think we made pancakes for breakfast.

We went out there for other outings. I remember one time a women's retreat was held there. I think it was too cold at that time to be outdoors much, and there was no snow that time. But we still managed to enjoy the environment. I think several of us went out walking on the trails. We talked and laughed and just enjoyed being out there together.

I don't know how many acres the whole campground encompasses. If I looked at recent newspaper stories, I am sure I could find out. And this may not be new news to any of you who read my blog, but I just wanted to comment on it. I will say that the tracts of land that I see most often look like they would make great locations for homes, but it would be a shame to clear out the woods to put houses there. It would be more than a shame. How sad that the next generations will not have this wonderful legacy to grow up with. It is going to be a terrible public loss.

Into The Woods Part II

It was finally a good enough day to get off and go into the woods a little bit yesterday. I didn't spend much time in there. It had snowed the night before, and with the melt and the recent thaw, you can imagine it is quite sloppy in there. But I didn't care. I walked a little ways in and I looked up into the trees. The sun filtered through and I closed my eyes and just soaked it all in. Ahhhhhhh...Peace.

I remembered that when we were kids we used to climb the trees. It was so fun to get up there amongst the thinner branches, high up. You hold onto the next highest limbs and you bounce. Maybe there was something daredevilish about that. Sometimes we bounced because it was an apple tree and we were shaking apples down to someone on the ground who would pick up the good ones to eat. Other times we just bounced for the fun.

Some days we could climb up in the tree and hide. It isn't much fun to hide in a tree unless someone is really looking for you. You wouldn't hide unless you were pretty sure SOMEONE would come looking. I loved hanging around up in a pine tree and watching someone go around and around the house looking for me. I would finally get tired of the game and of getting all that pine sap stuck all over me, and I would call to whichever sibling was looking for me. I would climb down after I had laughed and laughed at them for not thinking to look for me up in the tree.

There was a particular pine tree that stood very close to a low part of the roof. We used to climb up there and climb over onto the roof. We spent a lot of time playing up on that roof. I don't remember my sister up there much. Lisa was usually a good little girl and she didn't often take part in our escapades. But the boys and I would get up there and then dare each other to jump off. The lowest part of the roof was probably only about 6 feet from the ground. I jumped off there many times. It could explain some of my joint problems in the knees. Maybe.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed these little walks back into my childhood memories of trees. I better get out of here!

Into the Woods

I may have mentioned this before, but when I was growing up in central Indiana, my Dad raised beagles. They weren't just pets, they were hunting dogs. Dad used to put a few of them on leashes and load them into the car and take them off to "run rabbits." For those of you who have never experienced this, I will explain. You go to the woods and you find a brush pile. There are usually rabbits hiding in brush piles. You have the dogs there, usually still on leashes.  You can kick the brush pile, or jump on the brush pile and it will startle the rabbit. He runs out. You unleash the dogs and they follow the rabbit's trail. They run for a while, baying every little while. Baying equals barking, usually a prolonged note, not just a choppy, short bark. You follow the dogs until they either lose the trail or the rabbit hides in another brush pile. You can kick the rabbit out again, or be done for the day.

I mention it because I think this is when I first learned to love being in the woods. My Dad used to take one or more of us five kids along for company. We learned to tromp through briars and brambles, crawl over fallen trees and branches, swish through long grass, all while being quiet. I learned to appreciate solitude. Even though we were there together, we didn't really talk much. We were alone in our thoughts. I am sure I can imagine why Dad liked it so much. If you had five rambunctios children, wouldn't you want to go hide in the woods for a while? I only had three, and I am sure I can imagine the reasons it gave him such joy.

I was thinking about all of this at least two days this week when I came home "the back way" from work. I drive through the Bristol Fruit Hills. Just east of State Road 15 on County Road 112 and also County Road 14, there are some deep woods. This time of year the snow is patchy in there. You can see through layers and layers of trees. You can see places where the snow still is thick on the ground because it hasn't been warm enough to melt where the woods is thick enough to keep the sun out. The branches are all bare. The bracken or weeds and wildflowers have not yet started to grow back up yet. I see deer trails in there. I drive by slowly and I imagine myself walking on the floor of the woods. I imagine the trees standing tall all around me and picking my way through carefully, always watching the next step. I'm stopping every few minutes just to listen. Quiet. I am looking as far as my eyes can see, trying to catch a glimpse of some wild thing. Maybe a deer will appear. I have seen turkeys in there. Maybe there will be something even more exotic: I saw a pheasant two weeks ago. He was right on the road. I stopped and tried to take his picture with my camera phone, but he ran down the road. Guess he didn't want to be photographed.

I wish I could transport myself to the woods and, better yet, to the tranquility I feel when I am in the woods whenever every day stresses abound. I like my job, but it is still a job. Every job has stress. Mine has its share. I don't have the luxury of being able to close my eyes and imagine much while I am at work. I have to concentrate on the job at hand. But, if I could, I would go more often into some woods. I would breathe deeply and walk along, alone with my thoughts. (I am such great company, aren't I? And modest, too.) To me, it is important to have that solitude. Life goes by in such a hurry. We should take time out to think about it all. To laugh. To grieve. To live.

I have so many thoughts that I need to be alone with right now. I do wish I could go to the woods to think all these things through. A child, one of my daughter's dance students, died a senseless death last week. Why? A friend hurt me very deeply this week without even knowing it. (Only friends can hurt you that way.) I am happy that my husband is working again. But, I confess, I worry about how long it will last. I worry, sometimes, about how long I will last. We are seriously thinking about moving back to Elkhart to save all the driving we can because gas is going up. Neither one of us really wants to move, let alone moving to Elkhart. So much to think about! How I long to go to Bonneyville Mill and walk in the woods and think about all this stuff. But it's raining. It's muddy. It's chilly.

I will get there, though. One of these days, I will go into the woods. I will breathe deeply. With each breath, I will expel all the toxic drag from my life. I will breathe in fresh, clean, new life. I will smile and serenity will come. God will talk to me. I will finally listen. It will be so awesome. Maybe the sun will shine through. It isn't necessary, but just an added benefit. Problems will get solved. Even if the problems don't get solved, I will feel better about all of it. I will forgive the hurts, little ones and big ones. Oh, how I wish I were there right now, in the woods.

Awaiting Spring

I love snow. But, like everyone else, this time of the year I start getting spring fever. I begin to think about all the spring flowers that will start blooming; crocuses first, then daffodils and then tulips. I can't help but smile. I don't know why it is that I love the spring flowers so much. I just do! You know it is going to start getting warmer. We can put our hats and mittens away. We can bring out our spring jackets and spring clothes. It's the flowers, though, that make me the most excited about spring. I think we will have to make another trip up to Holland, Michigan this year around tulip time!

Two of my babies were born in the spring. Interestingly enough, though their birthdates are about three weeks apart, the spring babies, my first and my last, were both born around Easter week. I remember it actually snowed on both birthdates. Spring snows are always a little surprising. My last baby was born in mid-April. I really wasn't expecting to see snow at that time here in Indiana. Just shows you how versatile our Indiana weather is!

I am thinking that we have had so much snow this winter that a lot of people up here in the north are probably suffering with serious spring fever by now. This weekend has been pretty nice. I saw a lot of people making use of the exercise trail near our home this weekend. Who can blame them? Temperatures were in single digits last weekend. How nice to have it be up in the 40's. It was in the 50's on Friday! There were joggers, dog walkers, and just a lot of people who were tired of being "cooped up" out there yesterday. Young ones in strollers, old ones, still bundled against the wind chill, and everything in-between making use of the beautiful day to be out.

Jay and I walked down the three or four blocks into town. (I can never tell you exactly how many blocks it is, because it kind of depends on which route you take. There is Warren street that slants up the hill by where we live and makes it three blocks in some places and four blocks in others.) We walked down to the library. We got some videos and a DVD. (The DVD was "The Ron Clark Story" with Matthew Perry. If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend it!) We walked to the little marketplace that used to be Park Pharmacy. There is a small store within the store where an Amish farmer sells eggs and meats and all sorts of things. We bought brown eggs, $1.50 a dozen. I don't care if the eggs are brown or white. I just like supporting the local farmer. I told Jay that I always feel so thrifty whenever we walk into town to buy things. Gas is just so high right now!

These little "tastes" of spring are kind of like a shot in the arm. The sun shining warm into the enclosed porch on the front of our house is so inviting and welcoming. I know, winter weather can return with a vengeance, and might, even today. That is why everyone was out yesterday taking advantage of the warm weather. We all know that spring has not arrived yet. No! It's still winter here! But we do put hope in the fact that the groundhog did not see his shadow, ( and how could he, it was a freakin' blizzard on  Groundhog Day!), we are looking forward to an early spring. But, thank God in Heaven for these few days when it feels like spring. The snow melts. We can go out for a little bit without our coats and not freeze our tails off! We can breathe without stinging our throats.

It has been a hard winter. But, once again, a lot of us have survived and are looking forward to spring and then the summer that follows. We feel like celebrating all the little harbingers along the way. (I saw a FLOCK of robins last Sunday, a Flock, even while it was still so cold!) So what if I only got to go ski once? Time to look forward to the next thing. Hope springs!

Thin Skinned

Something happened this weekend that I was just going to let completely go, because it really doesn't matter in the end. Just remember that I said this first, and let me repeat, "It Really Doesn't Matter!"  You see, one of my Facebook friends "unfriended" me.  No big deal. But the reason the person unfriended me was because I stated a counter political opinion to the one she had posted. I would tell you about it, but I think it is sufficient to say that I did vote for Obama, and though I don't support everything he has done, I do see the good in a lot of his and his wife's initiatives to do something for our country. But that is not what I want to talk about.

I want to talk about being "thin skinned". It's a term  I learned from my mom. It's a concept that I have been learning for years. "Thin skinned" is what you are when you can't tolerate any other person's views on anything. It is taking personal offense and declaring wars over generalities. I see it frequently, and have practiced it myself for years. I have learned, over and over again, that it is not a loving way to react or to be.

Some persons think that they can afford to be "thin skinned", because they know the truth and have wrapped themselves in its cocoon. It gives them the shield that they need so they think they can behave however they want. It results in the attitude of, "If you won't play by my rules, I will take my ball and go home." The end result is a broken relationship, just the same.

I won't say that I used to be "thin skinned".  I have to say that I still struggle with this. I have learned so much over the last 10 to 15 years, I hope.  I used to make sweeping judgments.  If your opinion, political, religious, or otherwise, was different than mine, I didn't have time for that. I now have friends, and dear friends, that have very strong opposing opinions and lifestyles from my own. I have grown as a person because of these friendships, and I think I am stronger and a better person because of them. I like who I am now better than I liked the "old" me.

Just let me give you a concrete example, so you understand better where I am with all of this. It used to offend me if people cussed in my presence.  Certain words, especially the "f" word, would cut me to the core. It isn't that I wasn't exposed to these words growing up either. My brothers and my sister and I used this kind of language growing up. But at one point in my life, these words became unacceptable to me. I quit talking like that, and most of the people I hung out with did not use that kind of language. I know there are still a lot of people that I know and love who are still offended with these types of words, and I can't really explain how the change happened in me, but the words don't offend me any more. I think that sometimes people have to use strong language to express strong emotions. Believe it or not, this change happened to me over the course of ministering to a profoundly hurt and abused person.

The true cure for being "thin skinned" is to really love people. You cannot really love people and be "thin skinned." You know why? Because real life happens to real people. Real life is not pretty sometimes. In fact, real life can be downright ugly. And if you ignore or shun someone because they are struggling with something awful and ugly, what good are you doing?

Now, I know this too. Sometimes you need to cut people out of your life. If someone is abusing you constantly, if there is no good thing to be gained by keeping that person in your life, cut them out. Sometimes you see that keeping someone else in your life is not the best thing for that person, either. Call it quits, even if it is temporary. We all have lessons to learn and sometimes those lessons are best learned in another classroom. It may not seem like the loving thing to do, but sometimes you can love people better from a distance. Examine yourself closely, be sure you are not just being "thin skinned". Always be willing to forgive and move forward, but do not allow someone to continuously abuse you.

As for the "friend" who unfriended me, I am fine with that. It is sad that my expressing an opposing opinion was what caused it, but so be it. We all have choices to make every day about whom we keep as friends and allies. My pledge is that I will try better today to love people more and to not be thin skinned. That doesn't mean that I never express my own real opinions and thinking, but it means I tolerate and even embrace your right to do so.

Let's Do Something!

I have never been one to sit around for long. I do not enjoy just sitting, mindlessly watching every show that comes on the television for hours at a time. Even as a little girl, I was always anxious to get outside and do something. (Although I really did love me some "Lassie" and "Roy Rogers".) I had a pretend horse named "Candy" who somewhere around the time I was 8 years old morphed into bicycle shape. My Dad raised beagles, so there was always a dog or puppy to play with. There was a big barn at the farm house where we rented with a sleepy old donkey. In fact, that was his name, "Sleepy". We had lots of adventures with Sleepy. He was somewhat of an escape artist, and we would have to go catch him somewhere. It was never easy because, once he was free, he didn't want to be caught again. You would get near him and he would kick like a mule and be off. There were woods to ramble in, usually with a dog or two. In winter it seems that there was always snow. It was before "global warming" after all, and it was Indiana. I do not remember any "brown" winters. Winter was white.

Now that I am 53, I confess that I do sit a lot more than I used to back then. But I still am anxious to get out and do something most days. If we can't get out and walk somewhere, at least we can drive somewhere and do something. Jay is a little less inclined. To be fair, since he has started his Security Guard job where he walks a lot, he has lost all the tummy that he gained while he was unemployed. Also, since he works swing shift he never knows when he should eat and what.  He looks quite emaciated when he takes off his clothes. I always want to fatten him up when we are here together on the weekends. I make sure he eats three times a day when I am home. I cook extra on the weekends so that he has stuff to eat when I am not here before he leaves for work on Mondays and Tuesdays. Still, most days he only eats about twice a day. And when he is home and not working, he is much more inclined to sit and watch television or read than to go out to ski or walk or any fun thing that I might suggest.

The hard part of going out to do things in the winter time is that it is cold, and it might be snowing. It has snowed a lot this winter. It has been colder, too, than winters in most recent memory. I love to ski, but you have to go out in the cold to do it! I don't mind this. I would rather bundle up and spend a day skiing than stay here in the nice warm house. If I am home, I am likely to cook or bake, or both. That doesn't help my weight problem at all! I would rather spend four hours on the ski slopes.

I also like to walk. We have a park within about a mile of the house, Krider Gardens. We can walk there on the trail that is just down the hill from our house. We also have a nice, woodsy park about four miles from our house, Bonneyville Mill. I love walking in the woods when it is freshly covered with snow. There are trails there, though they aren't always groomed. We just had a blizzard on Wednesday, as you may have already heard. There was officially 12 1/2 inches of snow, and some drifts with that are 4 feet. I doubt if they have that groomed at Bonneyville Mill yet. Otherwise, I would not be sitting here writing this blog. I would be over there walking the trails. One of these days, we will have to get cross country skis and go over there to do that. It's beautiful! There are other county parks in Elkhart County, but Bonneyville Mill is my favorite because it is so woodsy. I have seen deer, turkey, even a fox once. There are always geese and ducks on the river that flows through. It is so quiet and serene.

Anyway, all this about getting out and doing something has made me antsy. I think we are going to go ski this afternoon. I am going to have to get out to the garage and get our ski equipment brought in so that it isn't freezing when we go to put it on. I also need to make sure our snow pants and mittens and other snow paraphernalia are all clean and packed and ready to go. And I need to have a nice hot meal ready for when Jay gets home from his first-shift day today. He is a lot happier to go skiing if he has a warm meal in his tiny little belly!

Blizzards and Stuff

Results of the blizzard of 1978. Al Greek, Harry Glasper and Steve Noonan showing how deep was the snow.

I think the worst/best blizzard I ever lived through was the blizzard of 1978. It snowed hard for about three days. It wasn't just the snow, it was the way it blew into huge drifts. EVERYTHING was closed. No, I take that back. There were places that had to be open, like the Kroger on Ireland Road, because people who were stranded had to be able to get emergency supplies. I was living on campus of a small, mostly unknown Bible College in South Bend at the time. I had been "dating" Jay for only about a month and it was during this period of being snowed in that he actually asked me to marry him. I know what you're thinking. Only dated a month? Yeah, well, we were both on campus of that school for four months before that, and we dated several more months after that before we actually got married. But still, you're right. I didn't really know him well enough, and it is a miracle that this has lasted for almost 33 years. He asked me to marry him on February 3, 1978, while we were snowed in during that blizzard. I guess that gave me a good enough reason to be fond of blizzards.

I know it isn't popular to like things like blizzards. I am well aware that blizzards cause deaths and distress and make a general mess of everyday life. I am bothered by the death and distress, but I have to admit, it is the havoc that is made of "everyday life" that makes me like them. To me, it is fun to have things disturb the hub-bub of everyday life. It is disturbances or out-of-the-ordinary occurrences that make life more interesting and memorable. You don't usually remember an ordinary day too well. But add a disturbance, and it makes the day more memorable. We tend to attach memories to special occasions: weddings, birthdays, funerals,...blizzards...

We had a fire here in Middlebury, Thursday, January 27th. Probably the only people who will remember it will be  the ones that live here in Middlebury that saw it in progress and had to pass by the remains of the burned structure every day. They may not remember the date. I had to stop and think about it a minute, and I was here taking pictures of it most of the evening.

The blizzard we had February 1st and 2nd of this year will be a different story. It was not just our little town that experienced that blizzard. That storm had a pretty wide belt. Whether or not you got snow or ice it affected so many people across the US that it will be well remembered for years to come. There will be stories built around it and memories attached to it. Some of them won't be good memories. A dear friend of mine lost her mother to cancer the day the storm hit. My daughter-in-law will remember that she was once again parted from her husband as he left for survival training for the military. A 93 year old man in Brown County Indiana accidentally locked himself out of his home and froze to death during the night. There were people who got stranded in traffic on Lake Shore Drive in Chicago that had to abandon their cars on the street and seek shelter. Plain old shoveling snow from driveways and parking areas was not fun!

There will be good memories too. Children stayed home from school two days and had snow adventures. My daughter, a Montessori teacher, also stayed home and went "crazy in the kitchen" to her heart's content. A lot of people stayed home, safe and warm and happy that they didn't have to go anywhere. Maybe someone got engaged during that time. It happened to me once!

It does me a lot of good to just have time off for a day to get caught up on some rest, to have some solitude, to bake some pumpkin bread and ponder on life. I guess we are all just holding on tight or hanging loose, depending on your situation, and a blizzard can be a major disturbance or a welcome respite, or in some cases, a real catastrophe. But any day can be that. Stuff happens.

I am "Mom"

Some of my youngest and best memories I have involve my mother. The fartherest I can go back in my memory, the first thing I can remember about myself is of my older brother and me playing in a sand box in the back yard of what was then our home, probably our first home in Tipton Indiana. We had a pail and a big plastic ball. Our mother called us into the house for lunch. I don't remember what the inside of the house was like, or what we had for lunch, but I remember the incident.
By the time I was in high school, my mom was my best friend and confidant. She always had something useful to say to a girl who didn't have much self esteem back then. I would go to her in tears because of some unkind person at school, and she would tell me not to take it to heart. She kept me on a pretty steady course and got me through adolescence. Barely!

Anyway, now I am "Mom". I have three great kids (two have spouses now.) I remember vividly when they were born, the thrill of every little new thing they learned to do. I remember sitting on a winter afternoon with one on my lap and two close beside me on the couch as I read books to them. We passed many winter days like that. (And summer, oh, and all the seasons!) I remember, too, loving them so much that sometimes I thought that love would just smother me to death. My mom always used to tell me that I would not understand how much she loved us kids until I had my own. If I had known how much she loved me, I know I would have appreciated her more back then.

You know, there are just some things that you really don't learn about your mom until you become "Mom" yourself. Like, remember when your mom would clean up after you when you had "been sick".  (Well, maybe your mom made you clean it up, but my mom cleaned up after me, at least while I was little.) I remember when I was an elementary school student a classmate vomited all over his desk. It was all I could do not to vomit too. How was our mom able to clean up vomit? When I became "Mom", I learned. You can do anything for your kids.

When I left for college, I drove myself away. Mom was in the kitchen and she wouldn't even say goodbye to me. I thought she was just mad; both she and dad were really not in favor of my going to school. I have since discovered how very much it hurts when your children leave to go and make a life for themselves. I am not ashamed to admit that I wept openly when each one of my little birds flew away from the nest. I have learned that it is best for my psyche to mark the changes of life by expressing the emotion that fits. I rejoice loudly when the occasion calls for it. I allow myself to mourn deeply when the occasion calls for it.

Because I am Mom, I know what it is to be the kisser of hurt knees, the guidance counselor, the judge of what is fair, nurse to the sick, sacrificer of self, birthday party planner, pet undertaker, the patient teacher, (and sometimes, the not so patient, eh?)
Never perfect in any of these endeavors, and filled with regret some days, but still, I benefit from the many joys that have been mine, because I am Mom. So here is to all Moms, everywhere, still four months away from "Mother's Day", because we all deserve it. And to my Mom, I love you!

Thoughts for a Snowy Day

If you get an opportunity to drive anywhere, or even to walk somewhere, right after a freshly fallen snow, similar to the one we have just had here this weekend, use your eyes.
Take in the sight of all the world around you dressed in white. If you really hate snow, I ask you to suspend your usual inclination to just say, "yuck", and try to see the beauty in the day.

At the moment of my writing this, Middlebury is covered in snow. The morning sun is shining down, lighting up all the white. Everything is covered with snow. I absolutely love it! I have a lot to do today, but I think I am going to go out for a quick walk in just a few minutes (right after I put another load of laundry in to wash) and take the camera.
I want to record some of this for some hot, sultry summer day.

On some future day, when summer is here and it is too hot to breathe, I will come in here to my computer. I will bring up my winter pictures. I will remember where I was and what I was doing when I took those pictures, and how cold it was. I will remember that there will be a return of this kind of weather. Though the older I get, the more the extreme temperatures, both hot and cold, seem to affect my body more adversely, I will still rejoice in the winter days that brought all this beauty.

In the photo at the top of this page, you will see another recording of a wintery day from years past. This picture is taken of a barnyard near Bonneyville Mill. I know, there is a dumpster right in the middle of the picture. That is unfortunate, but, to me, it is still an extraordinary memory. The picture was actually taken right after a late snow. It was, in fact, a March snow. I drove the back roads from Middlebury into Bristol and took several pictures along the way. This is one of my favorites because of the thick woods in the backdrop all covered with fresh snow. And I love old barns. I love that whole area of Elkhart County, anyway. But the barn with the woods makes it the best; along with the snow that is.

Anyway, I just want to remind you to enjoy the beauty. And to those of you who don't think it so particularly thrilling or beautiful, remember; "This too shall pass."

Is There Such A Thing As A "Good Sleep"

Sleep like a baby.

   It is rather frustrating getting older. All of the things that I did not understand about my parents and other elderly friends, loss of energy and strength, the not being able to open a jar of pickles, dislike of extreme cold or heat, etc...all of these things have come to haunt me! And the worst of the maladies that I now seem to suffer from is not being able to get a good night's sleep. Yes, that is the most frustrating of all.

  While I am not so young, I am not so old. Yet, I find that I frequently cannot lay down at a reasonable hour and sleep until another reasonable hour. NO! If I lay down to sleep at 10:00, I must get up at 11:30 or 1:00 for a nature call. And, for no reason known to me, I must always wake up again around 4:00 a.m. I don't really "have to go", but I do, because, most mornings, I don't need to be up and around until 6:00. So I "go" and then hope that I can go back to sleep for a couple of hours. But it's a crap shoot if I will be able to sleep those extra two hours.

   I will say this; while I was getting up and walking regularly for those months before the week we went to Mississippi, I was sleeping better. I think there is something to that "fresh-air-and-sunshine thing, and its effects on our overall health. I can still walk mornings. It's just that, since Christmas, I have not been out more than three times. It takes a lot to get up on a dark, freezing morning, get bundled up, and go out for a thirty minute or an hour jaunt. I am determined to get back to it, but just haven't had the will power the last two weeks.

  Anyway, I know there are sleep aids. I know they work, too. I took melatonin for a little while, and it helped. I do not want to be dependent on yet another "product" (read P-I-L-L) for another function of life. I am only 53, and it looks like I will be on thyroid medication for the rest of my life. Now the Dr. has put me on iron tablets because of low hemoglobin, I am hoping that is temporary. I would really like to solve as many health problems as I might be presented with natural remedies. So, even though it is cold, and I must get up at 5:30 instead of 6:00, and it is pretty dark right now at 5:30 am; I must get back to my early morning walks!

House of Cards

  This is a little more political and a little less of my usual "Ponderings" sort of offering. It is just that I heard a brief mention yesterday morning on NPR (yes, that is National Public Radio) that the national debt is nearing its "cap" of some $14 trillion, and something about if Congress doesn't "raise the cap", well, honestly, I don't know what they said after that. My head was just spinning. I keep hearing about countries, entire countries, going broke.
   There was another story they did last week covering the situation in Spain. The way it was presented, there is no "bail out" if Spain falls. And then, it will have a domino effect across Europe. It was said that if it becomes popular belief that Spain cannot pay its debt, then other countries will stop loaning it money. Spain will go bankrupt. If Spain does, then Germany will be next. Eventually, it would be the US. Kids, the whole economy is just a house of cards.
   I know a whole lot of people don't want to believe that. We all just keep hoping that things will get better. We try to prop ourselves and our economy up by believing it is getting better. But I can't stop this gnawing anxiety. What is it really going to take?
   I remember this song by Randy Stonehill that I knew years ago. A snatch of it was "Our economy is shrinking. Our money is a joke. We should go back to trading seashells and just admit that we are broke..." Every now and again, that song rises up and sings inside my head, just because it is so true!
   We can't trust our government or anyone else's government to fix this economic problem. Do you think they can fix it? I don't! I think they keep propping it back up, kind of like a tent in a wind storm. Just when you think it is steady again, the wind comes whooooooshiiiinnng up. I really do believe that is all going to blow away one day. I know I am so pessimistic about it. I admit that I am. But I just want to kind of be prepared in my mind and heart.
   I used to have a friend, Veda Powell. She would call this "catastrophizing". You think up the worst possible thing that can happen. Some of us just do it naturally. I come from a long line of worriers, and I am really good at this! The bright spot is that most of the things that you worry about never happen. 
    Anyway, this was just bothering me, so I thought I would tell you about it and see what you think. I welcome you to totally disagree with me and offer me three helpful examples and statistics of why it is not going to all fall down, like a house of cards.

Pensive Ponderings

   The Christmas Season, along with the New Year, can inspire great bursts of energy from me. I decorate and cook and bake myself into a tizzy. Really, I do. Then, when it all over and done, I am left with that post-partum-let-down. That all comes to a head when I take down the Christmas tree. Now that the kids are all grown and gone, I am left this lonely chore. Jay does not decorate, nor undecorate. It falls to me. I solemnly make the trip back down to the basement to bring up the "Christmas Decorations" box. I carefully remove all the ornaments, ribbon, lights. The lights are the hardest. I have this inner struggle to just put the rest of the decorations away and just leave the lights and the tree for one more weekend. Nah. I am doing this now, they must go into the box with everything else.

  So, now that's done, for another year. Time for me to re-claim my pre-Christmas energy and throw myself into the next task. Which is? I decided to treat myself to a post Christmas shopping trip. And I am going to go see a movie that Jay will not care to see. Then I have rehearsal tonight. Then, tomorrow, I return to work for the rest of the week. And all the pensive ponderings about what Christmas brings and what it leaves behind will leave me. At least, it will leave me until about this time next year. Love to all!