Category Archives: Life

Taking Down The Tree – In Retrospect

22 Saturday Jan 2022

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January 22, 2022:

First, a very happy birthday today to my 12 year old niece Isabella Claire, who has been a ray of sunshine in my life! The sun as well, is a beautiful gift from God today and I’m looking to it to continue healing. I am tired of feeling and looking like a slug; sick of taking care of only our household and not being able to reach out to others. Most thankful today for warm homes, drive-thru windows, and good medicine, I hope the Covid fog is about to lift.

The day I wrote the following was a good day, with a cherished visit from my brother’s daughter Sara and her toddlers as well as my sister and her young grandsons. The kids laughed and ran about so cute, having a ball, and the three of us, aunts and niece, had a good and much needed visit. The following day brought a new sadness to our family and one through which I am still processing via pen and paper. The events of the week hindered my tree-taking-down until the following Saturday afternoon; but the rest of my holiday decorations remain gathering dust, awaiting a time of wiping down and wrapping up. Snowmen stand smiling as if nothing changed; a small group of old world Santas seem oblivious to the calendar and uneaten candies have lost their taste for me. No longer fresh greenery shatters each time I pass it. In retrospect, I may reconsider the ‘bad luck’ in leaving a tree standing through the new year; not really sure.

Events of the past few weeks have left my mind and body craving newness but Covid is still pulling the reins on my strength, and sadness of my brother’s passing shadows my writing. In weak effort to pick back up and rejoin life, I am publishing this January 4 writing as I planned to do on that sweet morning.

January 4, 2022: Taking Down The Tree: Times of Tradition

We never used to leave the Christmas tree up into the new year. Mama said it was bad luck to have it up on New Years Day, but I doubt she believed it because she wasn’t normally a superstitious person. I realize now she simply needed it out of the way before getting back into her usual busy work week. I carry most of her traditions leading up to Christmas Day, which leaves me too tired to take it all down the week after, when I finally get to relax and enjoy it. (How DID she do it?) This year I’m really dragging it out because I am expecting company today who didn’t get to be with us on the 25th. I want her littles to get their gifts from under the tree. As I look upon the ornaments, dreading the process of taking it down, there’s one front and center taking me down memory lane so far I lost track of time.

Walking down the aisle of Kroger December 2009, I saw a rustic red wooden star with a fat little snowman painted in the center. Two points of the star were longer than the others, and they reached right into my heart. I stood holding it, sobbing, there in the middle of the grocery, thinking, “this – this very ornament is exactly what Mama would have given me this year” – I just knew it. Never before had I bought an ornament in the grocery, nor had I seen one I thought would have been given to me. But this one. This one was going home with me and now, Christmas 2021, it still adorns my tree and I can smile instead of cry.

I remember crying as I pushed my cart through Kroger a couple, maybe four or five times, I don’t know, I lost count actually that summer and autumn following her passing. I stand wondering this year, why. What about the grocery did that to me? Standing here today looking at my star, I just figured it out. For my entire childhood, from before I could remember, Mama and I did the grocery shopping together on Saturdays. That stopped of course after I married, but even then, if I dropped by on Saturday and she was gone, I knew I could find her at Owen’s Food Market, or the beauty shop.

Mama enjoyed recalling the times when I was a toddler, we would go ‘bumming’ on Saturday. We’d go to a dime store soda fountain in Cleveland, Ohio where she would lift me to a stool and we would share an ice cream soda. Afterwards, we’d get her shopping done. Her only day off for years was Saturday afternoon so the tradition continued, as two more children came along and we all four traipsed the aisles of Johnson’s Grocery in Murray, KY Saturday after Saturday. She bought ice cream and cokes for us to have a Saturday night treat, and I also recall getting to pick out a Little Golden Book for us on many of those trips.

Mama depended on credit in those days, so she remained loyal to one grocer at a time. When Mr. Johnson closed, she continued the tradition at Mr. Owen’s. They knew she would pay as soon as she could – and that’s as good a tradition as anyone needs – a good name.( “A good name is to be chosen rather than great riches, Loving favor rather than silver and gold.” Proverbs 22:1 NKJV. ) Holding my star, I know she was the star of our Saturdays, our Christmases, and many of our traditions. I’m glad I broke the one about taking down the tree on new year’s eve. Otherwise I wouldn’t have had the pondering time today, leading me on the grocery cart ride as I figured out twelve years later why I felt such loss in the aisle, and why I latched onto my Christmas star. May you find your own beautiful stars living in the traditions and memories of love. Trisha

Colt and Jameson 1-4-22

Isabella Claire, ruthless opponent! 1-1-22

On the Wings of a Butterfly

31 Tuesday Aug 2021

Posted by in Life, MONDAY MUSINGS

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Recalling the sadness with which my dad would report the passing of another old classmate, I began to identify somewhat, with those feelings. I had just read the obituary of yet another friend of my mother’s which saddened me, but more than that, it began to unfold a revelation about aging I have never felt before. (It isn’t about my being another year older or being nearer the end. Instead, it’s feeling the passing of life as I’ve known it. It’s the people who’ve left us behind, evolving morality, chivalry and such.) The lady who had died was an age right between my parents and me, so she considered Mama a friend, and me as well. We weren’t close, but I had respect for her and remembered fondly how she was a presence in our lives when I was a young child.

A couple days ago I came upon a colorful butterfly whose life had ended, and it suddenly returned to mind today. Each time I walked by it as it lay on the hot concrete, a few more particles of its lovely wings were etching away, as is the way of Mother Nature; by another day it was gone.

I wondered, are our lives just delicate wings, slowly crumbling off around the edges, dissolving like a mound of January snow? Well, actually yes, according to God’s word, our earthly lives are like the petals of a flower, dust in the wind. “All flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of the grass. The grass withers, and its flower falls away. But the word of the Lord endures forever.” (I Peter 1:24) But God put something inside us that the dust and the butterflies do not have; a soul. I know the soul lives forever because God said He created us in His image, which is eternal. “Then God said, ‘Let Us make man in Our image, according to Our likeness;’ (Genesis 1:26) I understand this; however, it’s the season we’re spending here with one another that I am pondering.

When dad mourned passing classmates, it was literally losing pieces of himself. I recall losing high school classmates not long after graduation and unlike the elderly, it was shocking, unusual and set apart from our own lives. However, as we grow older together, we are watching each other’s lives span out, grow, and come back together again. We find more things in common, along with our other acquaintances, woven throughout our own tapestry of life. So watching all these people from different periods of our lives begin to leave, is similar to watching the threads slowly unravel and slide out of the cloth, little by little, one friend, one relative, at a time. This we know is natural, neither shocking nor unusual, but as I’m just realizing, it is actually changing the landscape of my life, my world; a world created by the relationships we’ve made, the real stuff of our lives. It reminds me of enjoying a bowl of ice cream. You have your favorite flavor in your favorite bowl, the spoon that fits just right in your hand, and you knew the delicious treat wasn’t to keep, so as you enjoy it, bite by bite, you see it disappearing. Either you eat it or it melts; either way, it goes.

I realize these thoughts have the potential of being depressing, but it is not my intention to bring you down. Rather, you should know your life, whether a casual acquaintance, a relative, my best bud, or somewhere between, is being enjoyed like a bowl of Columbian coffee ice cream; worn in my life like the finest woven tapestry; and decorates my life like the blue speckles on the butterfly sipping at my zinnias. We are not put here to live unto ourselves. As we help and encourage each other, we are actually folding in the ingredients, weaving threads of gold and silver, into and throughout each other’s lives. Make it good, dear ones! When the tapestry is completely undone, will I be just another wing on the sidewalk? I like to think I may be a good memory to some, like that particular butterfly was to me, but more importantly, whatever makes me fly will live forever with my God.

Thankfully, I haven’t had to say goodbye to many of my own peers, but as I’m practically in the lap of being the older generation, I have just begun to understand. I found myself frantically searching my mind for someone who might be able to answer questions related to the life of the recently deceased. Finally I called a cousin who could fill in some of the blanks but the truth remains, there are fewer people left than I care to realize who can still answer questions about past memories. The memories are precious because of the souls connected to them. So hug them up tight; wrap them in fine quilts and serve them using the good dishes. Life just may be short, so enjoy the ice cream.

“Therefore we do not lose heart. Even though our outward man is perishing, yet the inward man is being renewed day by day.” (II Corinthians 4:16)

Broken Teacup Lids and Thoughts Of Mother’s Day

08 Saturday May 2021

Posted by in Family, Friendship, Life

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The Thought Pixie brought along the Regret Rascal, arriving just in time to block the Sandman and so I began one of those nights. You know the kind, when every debate you had put away, comes back out to play. Good thoughts, bad thoughts, hopes, regrets; doesn’t matter because once they get on a roll, sleep just doesn’t have a chance. My solution is a cup of Sleepytime tea and a pen in my hand. You know, if you give those random thoughts free range, there’s no telling how long they will romp and stomp. I’ve found intentional thinking by reading or writing will either chase away, or corral them to a manageable level. Even though I am still awake, the effort seems to bring the brain to the point of resting sooner than lying there fighting demons in the dark. The writing usually brings me around to some point where most of those thoughts are connected. Such was this night, two days prior to Mother’s Day.

As if by an unseen force, my hand reached for Mama’s old Hallmark tea mug with a matching lid for steeping. It lives on a shelf, at eye level, where I can see it, but never use it for fear I’ll finish breaking what I started years ago when I dropped the lid. It broke in half, and is glued together with a dark scar, but I treasure it for a couple reasons. First just because it was Mama’s and it was given to her by one of her friends. I can just see her dipping the tea bag up and down in the hot water, then placing the cover to steep the tea and finally, placing the bag to dry on the upturned lid while she sipped her Earl Gray. Rarely ever did I visit her kitchen or den without seeing a dried tea bag where she left it. Secondly, the message written on the cup would probably have been her motto had you asked her. “Life’s truest happiness is found in the friendships we make along the way.” So, in anticipation of this Mother’s Day, I drank my herbal tea from the little blue friendship mug as I wrote to Mama.

Even good things can be broken. Good broken things can be repaired if we care enough to do so. God uses broken things; why shouldn’t we? Although they probably will never be the same, they may be even better – like this tea cup lid. It’s better because it has a new purpose: to remind me that broken is not always forever. It reminds me that people too, are breakable, repairable, and often better than new.

Hearts, relationships, a promise or teacup 
once broken, will leave a scar.
Will one see light shine through the cracks
Or will one see a mar?
Finding hope or substance to patch, stitch or mend
Will prove the thing to have been worthy
When love comes peeking in.

Thank you Mama for being my friend, and for teaching us how to find friendship in life. Happy Mother’s Day to all the amazing women we call sisters, daughters, mothers and friends! Trisha

Looking Back With 2020 Vision

21 Sunday Mar 2021

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    Good Sunday afternoon to you! The weekend found me at my old sunroom desk, enjoying sunshine and the song of birds as they declared their hope and cheer.  I was thinking how it’s been a year since I realized COVID 19 would infiltrate every nook and cranny of this country along with the rest of the world. The Murray Ledger & Times reported last week was the one-year anniversary for the first diagnosed case of the coronavirus in Calloway County. Like everyone else, I am thinking back over the year, weighing the lessons and difficulties we have all faced. Part of me wants to just move on and never look back, with gratitude for the vaccination process and for another decrease in cases. The other part of me actually needs to look back and hope the year counted for something. It’s always best to count our gains – always count your blessings – but somehow acknowledging the losses, the trials we’ve lived through and survived, makes us feel stronger and actually hopeful. Hopeful that ills can be healed, lies can be disproven, and I can get out of my pajamas before noon. (Didn’t want this to get too serious!  It’s a beautiful day.)

    Most of us have had plenty of time to ponder plans for this new year, to clean out cabinets and cobwebs, and to just be still without feeling guilty. I’ve gotten really good at that last one. In fact, I may have to put it on my negative list because I am literally afraid I’ll never again be as productive as I was. It’s probably best I’ll never know if it was just my age, or the fault of COVID 19. 

    I like seeing some of the “lessons I’ve learned” and “people I admire” lists that came out of the extremely weird year. It wasn’t just the coronavirus. From February tornados to scary diagnoses and odd occurrences, it has been anything but dull since late January 2020. Obviously, there has been true tragedy and deeper grieving for many to endure over the past twelve months; my sympathy to all. For today though, I am thinking of lessons learned over the course of Covid. As I’m in the minority who didn’t deal with home schooling, my woes will be different from yours, and yours different from someone else as well. I’d love to see your lists of 2020 pros and cons. Here are a few of mine.

    The first few weeks we were learning to adjust while trying not to feel different; also learning ‘normal’ cannot be overrated. Get up, get dressed, get out; hmmmm, where would we go? OK, get up, get dressed, stay in. Eventually necessity drove us out and I became the designated driver, so to speak, to run the required errands for two households. Noticing all the other helpful hands and wheels enforced my belief that Calloway County is a great place to live – the best! I learned that making 20 or 30 masks for a children’s hospital and for family, was easier than sitting down to make one or two for myself. I discovered keeping spare masks in my purse, glove box, and coat pockets did nothing to prevent my panic each time I almost walked into a store without one.  I learned through YouTube videos that ‘easy’ is a subjective word! No wonder folks were paying six dollars for a fifty cent piece of fabric and elastic! Then proudly displaying them on rearview mirrors.

    I also learned: the real important stuff in life I took for granted; like toilet tissue,  hand sanitizer, canning lids and visits from my children. Especially those visits!

    I need to spend more money on pjs.

    I don’t need to eat breakfast each time I wake up throughout the day. 

    I am not the “one-way-arrow-on-Kroger’s-floor” police. 

    I have absolutely no barber skills!

     I will never again wonder why a generation turned so violent; have you paid much attention to Gunsmoke? Would a duel between Matt Dillon and Frank Barone be out of line? 

    I feel like, for the first time ever, I know our Governor personally. 

    I cannot blame a lack of time for unfinished projects; I simply start too many of them. And a fresh coat of paint is a miracle worker.

    Online shopping and grocery pickup is addictive.

    Good coffee is worth whatever it costs.

    Most people are real; real people are good.

    Life is too short to be fake.

    Some things I missed most: hugs from my great nieces and nephews; hugs at church;  Thursday morning breakfasts out. Bunco.

    What I’ve accepted:  I am a home-body; I like it, always did, always will.

    Home cooking is worth the trouble and I’m a pretty good cook.

    I can’t fix the world’s ills but I can pray for them and crying is good for the soul.

    I will never forget: the importance of people to one another. Social distancing has its place, but isolation can be worse than the threat of a virus. 

    Even home-bodies love and need phone-friends.

    2020 certainly wasn’t perfect, but it may very well have improved our vision!

    A Present of Presence

    05 Saturday Dec 2020

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    I brought my coffee to the sunroom to watch the sun change from a narrow apricot band over the tree tops, become the growing light, and make the sky match the frost covered ground. Sitting by my little “memory” Christmas tree here, I take off one ornament – a clothespin pony, painted red wth white polka dots and a white yarn mane and tail. I remember opening the box of clothespin ornaments back in the 80’s, all painted and decorated in detail; angels, soldiers, a lion, ponies; all still with me today because they were mailed to us from West Virginia. Big Sissy Helen always thought of us.

    Reaching for the blessing jar sent only a couple weeks ago from Linda in New Jersey, I pull out today’s surprise message. This one simply said, “We never lose the people we love. They live wth us in our hearts for the rest of our lives.” And I gingerly touch the little red clothespin pony to my face, stirring the present of Helen’s presence in my heart.

    A busy cardinal outside my window now reminds me of Helen’s early up-and-at ’em-life. I remember also the first time ever when she didn’t know who I was when I called her. It was Mother’s Day this year. I wrote about it; about the heartbreak of Alzheimer’s and the things it robs from us. I need to finish that for Helen’s girls and her husband’s sake. They need to know their mom and wife still lives on in the hearts of others, even though she has only fragments of herself living still in the shell of her body.

    Yes, Linda, they do live on in our hearts. Thank you for the reminder coming from the little jar of love; that we have not truly lost those who are not physically in our midst. They are so much more than a body and a face.

    I pray God will grant me the ability and time to be like those little slips of paper coming daily from the blessing jar; reminding someone, somewhere that real life – the real life that goes on living in our hearts – is not vanity at all. God gave us each other for a reason. May we each paint the dark skies with light; open gifts of pleasure for others, and speak words of blessing into their lives while we can. We will live in their hearts for the rest of their lives.

    FROM THE PORCH: Much Has Changed, Much Has Not

    29 Saturday Aug 2020

    Posted by in Family, Life

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    The other day I ran across a picture of my husband and me sitting on the front porch of a house we rented for a year in a subdivision off Hwy 94 West. I don’t know who took that picture, but I could hug them.

    Who were those youngsters? Lean and strong, the summer of 1983, and that was our real hair color! It is no longer; and that’s just one of many changes. The two sweetest kids on earth, ages “almost 4” and 6 years old called us Mama and Daddy. Thankfully only the ages have changed – they’re still sweet, and we’re still Mama and Daddy. We were ten years into our marriage with no clue as to what would become of our dreams and aspirations, but we just got up and did what we did each day to make those come true. Some of that changed too. I cleaned a lady’s house for $10 once a week and stuffed envelopes for a neighbor. I have no idea what he paid me but it was rich for me just to stay home with my little ones and still earn enough gas money to get one to kindergarten, then first grade, and keep the other one and her sippy-cup safe. It let me pay a little each month on the Sears account that carried our important ‘must haves’.  My mother told me, “As long as you send ten dollars each month, they can’t say a thing about it.” (She knew from experience.) Boy, has that ever changed!

    But now,  that man in the picture – oh my oh my, that right there was my giant. And that hasn’t changed! He kept two or more jobs going at once; farming for us and driving spreader trucks for Hutson’s Ag Co. from before daylight ‘til after dark. By night, we remodeled the farm house on the 50 acres we were finally able to buy that fall. There on our rented porch sat the desire for our own home and the gumption to get it done. If he spent five dollars on himself in a week, it was rare. As long as his little family was safe and sound, he kept his nose to the grindstone and then came home to love us just as hard. I did what I could to help in farming, which was mostly running him back and forth since we didn’t live on the land he tended. I think I helped in the tobacco fields that summer as I always did, to some extent, but without his leadership and determination my part would have amounted to nothing. The experience he brought to that porch was of doing everything the hard way, as his dad had also farmed alone, and seemed to make any task all the more tedious. Well, the truth is just the truth. 

    As the year on that porch went by we encountered several other alterations; a scary diagnosis for our son, which was resolved, but grew our faith and proved the love of our family and friends. It was from that porch we saw our children make new friends, and learn to ride a bike. Carrying our belongings up those steps one January and back down the next, my husband shouldered more than furniture and boxes. He knew it was make or break time. Never a fan of paying rent, he wasn’t about to any longer than necessary. That year though, renting was exactly right for us. The span between getting back up on our feet, and easing back into the saddle of debt, was the breath of confidence we needed. It was both humbling and inspiring. I’ve always suspected that someone was paying a portion of our rent because it was so affordable, and because my mother was determined to get her grandchildren back in her school district. I smile as I write that. But we managed to pay what we were told, and still believe, was the monthly rate, and I do recall a portion of the rent was paid by my husband hauling in dirt and single-handedly shoveling it around the foundation of the house to take care of a water drainage problem. Seems he was always moving earth to make ends meet. We were too busy to know we were living at poverty level, as we were told later; but we never were hungry for anything and slept like babies.

    I am not proud to say our focus was not on God those years. Oh we believed, and took the kids to church;  we listened to John Dale’s encouraging lessons on the radio on Sunday nights, but our focus was surviving and enjoying our children. God’s focus however, was on us, as His hands were all over us, preparing us, pruning us and proving us. Somebody was praying mightily for that young couple sitting there on that porch. The hardships we had faced for a decade were lain on the steps of the porch and we stood on them to look forward in spite of our imperfections. The fear and uncertainty that must have gripped my husband’s heart each morning were felt by our Lord Who anointed  his head for protection and filled our cup to overflowing. 

    None of us know what the next day will hold, but I can tell you Who holds each day, and He sees your pain, your effort, your joy. He works wonders with the poorest of seasons. “Remember His marvelous works which He has done, His wonders and the judgments of His mouth.” (I Chronicles 16:12 NKJV) One day, you see an old photo and think, oh my, who were those children? It doesn’t matter. It does not matter, if they didn’t know who they were, for God did. If you’ve never been through a drought, you can’t imagine how good the rain feels. 

    “For the Lord your God has blessed you in all the work of your hand. He knows your trudging through this great wilderness. These forty years the Lord your God has been with you; you have lacked nothing.” (Deuteronomy 2:30 NKJV)

    WHAT EVER HAPPENED TO PDQ?

    10 Monday Aug 2020

    Posted by in Encouragement, Life, MONDAY MUSINGS

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    person pouring milk in highball glass

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    As we travel through life, with so many branches in our journey, there comes along every so often a twig of something from the past. Something we hadn’t thought of in years and we wonder, why had I forgotten that, as much as I liked it, or as important as it was? 

    PDQ is a sore spot between my husband and me because I had it and he didn’t. Well, he is kidding, mostly, but I was more privileged he says, in some ways; maybe because we lived in town when I was in those formative years, being exposed to a number of things he wasn’t.  When I say, ‘formative’ I’m not referring to the Wonder Bread use of the word, but rather to those elementary school years being a time of forming tastes and attitudes as well as some really great  memories. Throughout the tapestry of my life, I have changed many of the threads but the basic shape and design are still the same. Because of the people and landscape of those years, we learn to be the adults of our future. My point is not to debate nature versus nurture, nor even the pros and cons of more versus less. I would tend to be on the “less is more” side, but I digress. Back to PDQ, you probably know it was a granular form of deliciousness; light-as-air pellets of chocolate, strawberry or eggnog flavor to add to milk. One day years ago, I asked my kids and husband if they remembered it, and they had no idea what it was.  Recently I googled its whereabouts and found it was not manufactured past the mid-90’s. I haven’t seen it since the 70’s. It’s just one of those things, among many, my mother bought for us when we were living at 1709 Miller Avenue in Murray, Kentucky, 1961-1965.

    Murray, like all towns, has changed with growth and has been cloaked with advances in technology and modern moralities. But underneath, it’s basically the same caring community, proud of its heritage and revolving around family and faith. From the beautiful autumn leaves along Ninth Street where I walked from Poplar to the Austin Building as a third grader, to the current day walking park of the MSU Arboretum, the beauty of our town is evident. I was seven when my parents moved us from the Lynn Grove community into town, where we lived by the water tower. I liked having that point of reference and when I was nine or ten, I almost resented it when Edwin Cain built next door, between us and the tower. No longer could I say, “we live next to the water tower”.  I loved our neighborhood and formed life-long friendships there. We didn’t all stay in touch, but there was the recognition of happy times when I ran into any of them. Some have passed away, most still live around here, and my first BFF who lived across the street now lives across the country. Sandy Perfilio Jordan, you know Arizona with all its natural beauty just can’t measure up to the beauty of MKY (wink). Well, at least our trees; which brings me to another “what ever happened” thought. 

    One of my favorite autumn experiences has always been the raking and burning of autumn leaves. I know, smoke, smoke, smoke, right? The rustling sound of walking through shin high golden leaves; the aroma of clean burning leaves similar to wood fires; and the charred ditches along the roads – the whole bit – I loved it all. We had two huge pecan trees and several maples where we raised our children on Brandon Road. One of my happiest memories is when it was time to rake leaves, sweeping them away from the house toward the road, often piling the masses onto an old sheet to drag them to the shallow ditch. Along the way, my kids would run and jump into one of the crunchy mountains, followed by the dog and shrieks of laughter and “stop scattering my leaves”! After sundown, we lit those leaves up and sat back satisfied with a clean yard and good exercise. By that time of day, it was often chilly, so the heat of fire felt good too. It wasn’t too different from sitting around a fireplace on a winter evening sizing up the day’s work. Then, looking up into the trees at the remainder of red, gold and brown, I decided God probably meant those leaves to best serve as a ground mulch and insulator for perennials. 

    Now, I am not naive enough to think any of that leaf raking is a popular opinion; but it’s mine. My opinion, and I have a right to it;  like so many differing opinions and attitudes developed from somewhere deep in our history, we have a right to them as long as we aren’t hurting someone else in the use of them. I think maybe my right to voice my passions, stops when I allow it to take priority over common courtesy. What ever happened to that? It would be difficult to convince me there are any issues which legitimately require hateful tactics, or hurtful words in order to be heard, or made better. From the man who cuts me off to get somewhere first, to the meanness of property destruction, there is less courtesy and consideration than there used to be, but if we do not allow those exceptions to take our focus off the right thing, we will see all the kindness and sunny dispositions for which this community has been rightfully known.

    God has always known what is best for us. He did not say “Be ye kind as long as you’re ahead” did He? He did say, “add to your faith virtue, to virtue knowledge, to knowledge self-control, to self-control perseverance, to perseverance godliness, to godliness brotherly kindness, and to brotherly kindness love.” (II Peter 1: 5-7 NKJV)  Guilty as the next person in speaking my mind, I really have to watch myself or I become “that person”. But with the faith and knowledge, I should persevere in self-control until kindness is my automatic reaction. I’m truly sorry to all who’ve been the victim of any unkindness from me. Having said that, I am moving on.

    I would sure love for them to bring back the ten cent Mr. Malty! That was my favorite Dairy Queen treat; back when we as children could walk the five and a half blocks with a dime in our pockets and no fear. What ever happened to that?!

    Confound Corn Flies!

    25 Saturday Jul 2020

    Posted by in Life, Nature

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    shallow focus photography of corn field

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    It seems everyone wants to bellyache these days about something. I don’t know if it’s the weather (because we complain about that too; too hot, too rainy, too windy, too still) or if they’ve been social distancing so long they’ve forgotten how to be nice. There seems to be a protest about everything now, from masks to monuments. One person wants more protection while another wants lawlessness. Folks are running down our leaders while the leaders themselves can’t even find enough common ground to hold up one another. From city councils to international relations, everyone wants to be heard but no one wants to hear. News is filled with snarling, hissing and snapping like a room full of sore tailed cats and junkyard dogs. Bullies are forging ahead while bystanders gasp and do nothing. Now, far be it from me to complain, but I’ve about had it; only not with any of the above.

    I tolerate heat and humidity with a bandana, a Yeti full of ice water and a couple showers a day. Combatting weeds, grass and European House Sparrows requires no mask; but the behavior of some grocery patrons makes me glad my expressions are masked in that battle. I handle the news with the off button. I turn a deaf ear to the political propaganda because their behavior speaks louder than words anyway. I tolerate the protesting as long as it’s peaceful because, well, it is one of our freedoms, and after battling my own back yard, I have no energy left to argue anyway.  I am not married to any monument nor flag; just my husband and my Lord and it’s a full time job explaining one of them to the other. In the face of Covid, I’ve turned green lights on the front of our Kentucky home and made a few batches of masks and tried to send some encouraging words to shut-ins. So I try to be a positive person, so help me I do! But today my patience has reached its limit. Corn tassel flies. I feel like I’m swearing when I say their name. Temperatures of “feels like 101” did not drive me in. Whether rain or sunshine, there are always blessings within and reasons to thank God.  Wasps, no problem; there’s a spray that shoots higher than our second story window. Ants, put down the Terro or call the exterminator. But there is no relief – NONE – from these pestering tassel flies! It has been suggested that a fan will drive them away. I took a standing fan onto the porch, turned it on high and the longer it ran the more tassel flies I had coming in for relief from the heat. That incessant tickling as they hover over my skin is unbearable. The military should capture millions of these for torture tactics, but I don’t guess that’s a thing now. Come to think of it, maybe Nancy and Donald should come sit on my front porch and fight these little pests and then they’d be glad to go back to solving government issues, contending only with one another.

    Google says these minuscule monsters are helpful as they eat the excess pollen from corn stalks and aid in aphid control. I protest. I believe we could find another use for all that pollen. Leave the aphids for those adorable ladybugs who do not hover over me until I surrender the porch to them. No doubt the corn tassel flies will stay until it is horsefly season. Then I’ll really have reason to complain!! Y’all be calm and summer on.

    Time-Out For You, Jonah!

    01 Wednesday Apr 2020

    Posted by in Life, The unexpected

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    This post is longer than usual, but like you, my thoughts are boiling over lately. Plus, I have had more time to write, which is how I process things. As we look at our present dilemma intertwined with Jonah’s may you be encouraged  to remember “we are all in this together”.

    Even before “time-out” was a thing for preschoolers, I venture to say we all had our version of it. I counted to three, slowly, so my young’uns had a three-second time of reckoning  to decide if their chosen activity was worth it. Some used the “go to your room” or “sit in the corner”. Whatever the details, good parents gave their children time to reflect and reform. The first thing occurring to me at the onset of social distancing, was ‘did we need a time-out this badly’?

    As the news fills another day with Covid-19 reports, my heart stings with sympathy for the cities harboring large numbers of cases, even deaths, from this unruly virus. Our minds as well, are consumed with the growing numbers, questions, and the temptation to pull into ourselves or worse, ignore caution. Though I try to avoid seeing the news first thing each day,  I am glad to get daily updates from our Governor Beshear (4 PM daily, Kentuckians!) and his reminder that we will all get through this together.  Still, when I hear of the rapid invasion into our health and economy, my heart gets a squeeze of fear; a fear that our part of the country will, as the New York City mayor predicts, be hit just as they are. For a moment, I too, need a time-out.

    As I read encouraging posts and check on others, I am able to refocus and realign the outlook of doom.  I see well people staying well and spreading wellness from home, and it reminds me, God said, “Be ye kind, one to another”.  I fear for former co-workers, still on the frontlines caring for patients, and  I remember the Holy scripture, Philippians 4:6-7, so I pray for them with gratitude for everything they are doing.  I wonder how long we can hold out from hugs and handshakes, public assemblies and schools for our children.  And I remember we are just a speck in the timeline of history and this too shall pass. I am almost afraid to let others know that I wonder if God is allowing this time of uncertainty, and yes, fear too, so we will reflect on responsibilities and reform our priorities. It wouldn’t be the first time He used a bad situation for good. Nor would it be the first time people needed a time-out.

    Then I remember Jonah.Jonah_thrown_overboard_1130-673

    Jonah was told to go preach a message to another city; one that was doomed for destruction. That city was called Ninevah, but it could just as well be called Louisville, New York, Seattle, or Podunk. Jonah was not fond of the request. In fact, he flatly refused. Hiding out on a ship that went in the opposite direction from his calling, he brought his fear along with him in the form of a storm for the ship’s crew. That could just as well be our storm of fear, of hungry children, lonely elderly or a depressed brother or sister about to go down with the ship as we hunker down and hide; amid a sea of challenges that we could throw ourselves into to calm the storm.

    Before long the ship’s crew realized they had a cast away, and reluctantly threw Jonah overboard to save themselves. Jonah’s honesty in the midst of the storm allowed the mariners a good look at the true God, with the result of their seeking Him and sacrificing to Him in gratitude for salvation. Ironically, their salvation from the storm was due to obedience in fear of the God Who brought the storm to Jonah. Maybe a little fear goes a long way. It is a natural reaction that causes us to seek safety.

    Now, we know God is always a step ahead, and He knew then too, that Jonah was about to perish before he could carry out God’s orders. God prepared a great fish to be a sort of holding place, saving Jonah from drowning and giving him a time-out. Where is my time-out? Anytime my usual activities come to a halt; anytime circumstances incite me to look inward and upward. Am I listening to the Spirit when I read the Word, hearing what my Creator is telling me to do; or am I just reading words, checking a to-do list and hiding from the things I do not want to do?  I’m so happy to not be on a ship of irate mariners, for I too, am guilty. I hide for many reasons from the command to “go”.

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    Am I in the belly of my fish,  with time to meditate on God’s commands? It most likely is not to go preach, in my case. But I bet it is something like “feed my sheep” with food for the hungry, education for former children of war in Uganda and Congo (check out Exile International); or it could be with a phone call to a lonely shut-in. Kim Holder, an executive assistant, is the best at sending cards, her mission to carry out encouragement and send hope. Kathy Hargrove, retired teacher, is conducting school at home for grandchildren, babysitting as well, and praying big. My former co-workers are providing nursing care when they no doubt would rather be bunkered in at home. Ministers are seeking ways to spread good messages and serve the needs of people with errands, food and supplies. In recent years, Bethany and Matthew Williams have led a life-giving mission to the people of Africa. Last week, Judith Darnell, a retired hair stylist with her own health issues,  made a quilt for a friend facing an uncertain diagnosis. Cindy Lassiter, retired teacher, gives many hours every week to bring happiness to residents of a nursing home. Diana Darnell, hair stylist,  began sewing masks at home in effort to help prevent the spread of Covid-19. These are only a tiny sample of all the efforts that make me swell with pride in people; yet feel so small, showing me up on the days I feel like being selfish and hiding down in the ship. Thank you people for inspiring others and fueling hope.

    Jonah’s story did not end in the belly of the great fish.  In time-out, his heart was changed, and God told the host to evict Jonah onto the shore. You might think Jonah hopped up and cheerfully ran to Ninevah to proclaim his story. He did go, but only said what God gave him to say, “Yet forty days and Nineveh shall be overthrown!” The people believed God (Jonah 3:4-5 NKJV). God saw their repentance and turned his wrath away, saving the whole city of 120,000 people. It’s an interesting story, how even with a bad start in life, even if with a bad attitude, we can carry the message effectively if we tell it like it is – according to God’s word.

    The book of Jonah ends in uncertainty as far as Jonah is concerned, sitting in the heat with a dead gourd, grumbling about the unworthiness of others. But the message he was given to deliver was about God, His wrath; repentance and forgiveness; not about Jonah. We each will decide how to use this time-out, courtesy of Covid-19.  The difference is that God sent that storm to let Jonah know you can’t hide from God.  But God doesn’t send storms directly on us in this dispensation, or time of history. He already did all that to prove His power and spread His word all over the world. Then He sent His only begotten Son to seal His promise of saving us from our sins if we will believe and obey.

    I can be grouchy and moody, sitting with my dead gourd, wondering why the things I think important aren’t everybody’s priority. God says there is a whole world of people, all important to Him; including me. I have to say, although I am so sorry for the illness and the overtaxed health care system,  I am thankful for a time-out to enjoy a slower pace; more time to reconsider priorities;  daily chats with family; and getting in touch with important biblical messages instead of unimportant chores. Funny how some things just aren’t that big a deal anymore. Oh yes, I am still standing on my head in the flower beds, but that’s a stress reliever and a hobby, not simply a chore.

    I remember the promise that my earthly existence will be like the blink of an eye, the life of a flower, and then an eternal life. Whatever the world throws at me, it is nothing in comparison to eternity and spending it in praise, in the presence of the Creator of life! My prayer is “Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in Your sight, oh Lord, my strength and my Redeemer.” (Psalm 19:14)

    Stay home; when you do leave by necessity, remember 6 ft distance, wash hands at least 20 sec, and leave some toilet tissue for the rest of us. ♥

    Social Distancing 101: On the Lighter Side

    23 Monday Mar 2020

    Posted by in Life, The unexpected

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    The basic rule of social distancing is stay home; next step,

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    stay at least six feet away from people; thirdly, wash wash wash your hands.

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    This would be the plan with the goal of blocking transmission when sneaky aggressive invaders lurk about, too small to be seen. It can be an aggravation, but it can be a life saver. Also, social distancing can become depressing after a while.

    Almost sliding into a funk, I found my partner in crime pulling me back before I reached the edge. Today was about to become the second day with no shower, and no to-do list in action. Still in my oldest unmatched pj’s, I was contemplating a third cup of coffee and a nap at nearly eleven o’clock, because, hey, it’s also the second day without making my bed. He had been talking to someone by phone about a tractor an hour and a half away. Would I go with him to look at it? Well, that would mean actually getting out of my chair and doing something besides Facebook and texting.  Add Messenger into the mix and there seemed plenty to do. This is not like me at all. What was happening to me?

    For over a week now, I have been cooking and sharing food, running window-drop off-errands for us and my dad, conducting the business of appointment cancellations and rescheduling by phone, sanitizing and keeping the house neat, and repeating it all over again. Basically, avoiding as much human contact as possible. Suddenly I saw the cloud of monotony trying to shadow the shine of productivity. I was in a funk. Shaking the cobwebs from my head I realized I have been willing to do whatever I could for anyone else, but I couldn’t even get dressed, look human and take a ride with my husband? So thoughtful of me.  I took my rugrat self to him and said, fine, I’ll go.

    Showered, trimmed and coifed, I was feeling much better. Jeans and a boyfriend shirt finished the job. Whew! That was close. As we headed out the door, I grabbed crossword puzzles, laptop and my Yorkie. Water for all and a small snack assured we wouldn’t have to break our social distancing by stopping at a country store or truck stop along the way. Road trips always make me hungry.

    About 120 miles later, we arrived our destination and as he left the car to look at the tractor, I leaned out the door calling, “remember social distancing” adding a smile so the Tennessean wouldn’t think my husband had a lunatic passenger. I finished off the 2nd crossword, put the dog down for a nap and looked through a new Better Homes and Gardens. All was well until we started home. “I need a hand wipe” my dearest said. Okay…I hesitated to ask, but the look on his face made me. “You didn’t get close did you?” Just cleaning his hands from the tractor, I hoped. The answer he gave was, “Well, he stepped up to the door of the cab while I was in it. What was I gonna do?” This man is in solitary confinement. I mean it. I warned him.

    Well, we are going to hope the tractor guy has been the hermit type long enough that we are safe, but really, now we see the wisdom of staying home, even in a funk. I will be following him around with the disinfectant spray. I will be getting back into my dorm pants and old T-shirts, and for a while now I will extend myself the grace of some down time without the guilt. After all, he will be waiting on himself for the next 14 days.  Home really is sweet.