The Crochet Corner

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Today the moment of complete disrepair was my loss of a crochet hook. And I’m pretty fussy about changing hook brands during a project. The length of the shaft from hook to flat makes a big difference on the stitch tension. The whole item can get crooked or simply loose it’s comfort or softness.

This morning, the day after my mother in law’s birthday, I thought that I was doing okay emotionally. Until… until the I lost the crochet hook that I was using in my current project. After tearing apart the basket of yarn, the corner compilations of things, the blanket on the sofa protecting it from the the visiting dog slobber, and gernerally moving everything to and fro, the hook is still not united with the project.

The Hammerstein Cinderella movie from my early childhood was not something I ever saw as a child. My girls were gifted with the VHS cartridge of the movie and we watched it nearly as many times as they did Mary Poppins. The song, “In my own little corner” could easily have been my theme song from childhood and through adult years. I find the comfy corner in just about any setting I find myself

At church, it is generally at the piano, and yes, it is nearly tucked into the corner, only just displaced by the drum set next to it. Many times throughout my life in significant events, I was the one who used the piano in the corner to “entertain” or lead the singing. Growing up church, I was just stage left of the pulpit. Only because the back office and old stairway were far left, did the piano not truly sit in the corner. In high school, I found myself also often tucked in the stage left of all of the happenings on the stage, pounding out the accompaniment for the choir or the jazz band. Then on I went through college, playing for the interfaith fellowship weekly, local church choir, or other happening. After marriage, my placement did not change much. I did try center stage music ministry for a time, but it was not meant to be. The music that I composed still floats about in my head often crashing upon the shoreline in a tidal wave of memory and private worship times.

Crochet pattern kaleidoscope shawl just looked up a tutorial video and followed the pattern

My daughter’s growing up years found me also in the corner on the sidelines of their accomplishments at the piano. That also eventually failed, as their ability soon became beyond mine. They had other hands at the piano and I was happy to hear them become such very good musicians. I also had a chair or two that kept me “cornered” through their home schooling years. It was my “old school ma’rm” chair and I really have not sat in it much after they went to college and got married. Though it is comfy for me, I do not move my crochet projects about the house to sit in different chairs.

So in my own little corner of the living room, I set up a work station complete with baskets for devotional time, pottery cup with hooks and scissors, table for drink cup, and anything thing else that I might desire is within reaching distance. It’s not that I can be anyone I want to be there. I pretty much feel like “ME” most of the time. It is my creative corner both to use my hands and my brain and stay active in my sedate position!

The phone rings and from my corner I am still a wife, a mother, grandma “Oma,” a sister, a daughter, a niece, a sister in law, a crochet artist, a writer, and so much more. God has gifted me I know with a creative spirit. Sometimes, the old projects are ripped apart and made new. Somedays my ideas of who I really am get ripped apart also as God works on renewing my heart to be His child.

Today as I moved all of the items in my corner searching for my hook, I wondered once again…. What lesson is God trying to teach me in this?

The hook and project are still not united. Our family going the grief process in our recent loss of my father’s brother is also not united in physical form. Though we are united in our wonderment of why 66% of people do not have a will when death is such a guaranteed outcome of living? Yet there is the statistic and we all fall into it. Most of us do not plan for our death.

Okay, maybe these thoughts are all too morbid, but why do we ignore the inevitable? Meanwhile, loss and grief are all so common to us all. Yet some people take it upon themselves to think they are somehow “special” in their own experience and believe that no one else could ever have it as bad as they have. Really? Yes, everyone has their own set of life’s experiences, but should not these help us to relate to others going through similar life happenings. Death is not a singular event. We all have the loss of loved ones, parents, siblings, or children. Living involves loss.

The crochet hooks is still no where for me to find it. I finished one lovely kaleidoscope crochet shawl last week, and enjoyed the process so much I started another. There it sits. Without the correct size hook, it will be left alone for the day. When I have nothing other than crochet I literally feel LOST. I run about with my head chopped off wondering if cleaning is all there is to life I’d rather not live. Okay, it’s not that bad. But my husband would say “Yest it is.”

Books are my imagination escape. If it weren’t for books I would also be lost. I subscribe to an audio book app and that keeps me occupied most of the time. I finally got the BAARD set up on my phone also, and those are free. Then I can download four or five books, and just keep trying them and deleting until one peaks my interest. Sometimes I am not so discerning and pure entertainment is preferred to somehting more historical or educational.

This past month I came across “Mrs. Pargeter’s Mysteries.” While I do not give the books high marks, they did keep me entertained while I crocheted for the better part of two weeks. The final thought that I had after considering why I had spent my time listening to criminal mafia type comedy mysteries was – so that is what a “docier” is… french word maybe for keeping a list of someone’s wrongs towards a person or group that when reaching a certain said sin load would result in the call made for a hit or death wish. I decided that indeed a docier is what a lot of people keep for other’s whom they hold life long grudges and family enemies. I refuse to hold a docier of anyone in my mind or in my heart. Forgiveness has to be the rule in my relationships.

While maybe we are human and we have a difficult time forgetting how others have wronged us, If God can forgive me through Jesus, surely I ought to forgive others. Perhaps forgetting is not always wise, if we can remember without animosity and let it spur us on to be better and do better, that is good. Remembering the past mistakes of others is a lesson learned. And it should make us want to repay evil with good. So that was how listening to those books helped me. And when I mention things my moms said to me, it is so that I can respond with empathy and compassion to my daughters when they tell me things.

It’s been a rough day, but once again I am reminded of my own mother’s “someone always has it worse” stories and bad news reports anytime I felt like I had a bad day. She could always find some negative news item to make me feel like my day was sunshine and roses. Comparing my own happenings to the floods in Napal or the Grand Canyon, or the fires in Nevada just doesn’t make me feel any better, mom! Yeah, I know someone else might have it worse, but could you just say, “I’m sorry, you are having a rough day?” I learned at an early age that my feelings would never be validated. If I was ever looking for someone to weep with me, laugh with me, or just care I best be going to Jesus.

Oh, and the crochet hook is still lost. I have spent well over three hours moving things and looking for it. At this point in the day I am about to say the devil ate my crochet hook. I mean, he probably does not like my crochet and pray hours. So unless I go and buy another hook, the current project will ramain unfinished.

Conclusion of lessons learned from my crochet corner hooks and books already accomplished. However, today is another rough day for some of my people. So many prayer requests laid down at the foot of the cross, it is time to start the praises for what great deeds God has already done in our lives. The first being that I found my hook! I dug through my hook collection and found that the size I needed was “I” not “H” and begin working. I finished one color addition and grabbed the scarlet skein and there was the I – hook that I lost, embedded in the center of the skein that I handled nearly four times trying to find. Wow! Now Lord be the provider in all of these other prayer requests that I lift up to you now, and Thank You for being our supply!

The one uncle

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Sometimes it feels necessary to sum up one moment in life with a statement or feeling, or overwhelming conscious thought. This past week is one of those moments in my life. A dear uncle of mine passed away rather expected but shockingly so it happened, alone and without the knowledge of anyone in the family for a matter of days. The week for me began with a rather inconspicuous heartburn problem that seemed to have no digestive cause. The “heartburn” lasted until exactly the hour that I learned of my Uncle’s passing. Why was my spirit so vexed within me?

I was on a ten day streak of shortened sleeping hours for no apparent reason also. Some nights no more that two or three hours of actual sleep found me wondering just what really is going on here. We had a lot of phone conversations among family for the first week of the news until the decision was made that some of us do feel the need to honor his life and the contribution that he gave to each of us in our life’s journey.

Just because someone does not ever acknowledge the Maker of heaven and earth publicly, does it mean that we should no less be thankful to the maker for their influence in our lives? Or rather can we be thankful for the the difficult people in our lives just as we are grateful for the everyday people that help the world go around? Yes, scripture tells us that we are to be thankful in every thing. In all circumstance’s giving thanks always for all that God does in our lives and through the people around us that we might give God the glory. Even if they do not.

Before I share some of my favorite memories, I first want to share some of my dad’s favorite memories that he shared with me those last weeks before his passing.

Once when he and his brother were just pre-teens, they and a couple of neighbor boys were put in charge of driving some cattle across a number of miles to new pasture land. They seem so young to be on such a big mission, but for both of them it was a real highlight of their growing to manhood. At one point, my dad fell asleep while telling the story again, and then began muttering that he was trying to find his brother. They would often be out all day on horseback bringing cows home, or moving them to different pastures. They truly were the American cowboys that one sees in the picture books.

Another story is about boxing gloves that one of their friends or cousins was given as a gift. There was many a rowe with their friends as the boys dug into each other to beat one or the other in a boxing match. At one point, one of the older boys goaded my dad into fighting him even though there was quite an age, height, and weight difference. My dad was fiesty enough to land the boy a hit to the gut that took his air away and he caved in letting my dad take the win. Hearing him tell the story was quite hilarous as the exaggerations improved upon each telling.

My earliest memories of my Uncle were as a little toddler standing up on the seat of the pickup cushion with my arms reaching out to touch either shoulder. At one point I could hold it in no longer and my dad says I rubbed my Uncle’s head and said, “You don’t have any hair up here.” He replied as always on his baldness, “Hair is like grass, It does not grow on a busy street.”

My uncle had a self confidence that outshined his stuttering speech. His ego and male magnetism was not always a positive trait. And it often rubbed people the wrong way. Late in his life many of the relatives believed that he may have had autism or some other smart brain social disfunction. But for those of us that did visit with him occasionally his intelligence made for easy conversation.

Of all my uncles, my dad’s brother is the only phone number in my phone, in which HE actually called me. That does make it seem rather special that we have this ability to honor him with a memorial service and spend some time celebrating his life.

My Uncle was an engineer, a wood working hobbyist, a distance range management land holder, a political activist, a writer (dropping lines to new paper editors frequently), and so much more. When I was a little girl all I new was that he helped build airplanes. To encourage my love of math in early high-school years, he gave me a photo of prototype Boeing 737 and signed the back of it for my birthday.. I am rather sad the picture was ruined by weather a number of years ago. But I remember it clearly.

My Uncle was also one of the few people of my relatives that seemed to really enjoy asking me about my greenhouse and how things were going with it. We could discuss herbs, plants, bugs, and soil content with ease and it was always a stimulating conversation. He also loved music, and thoroughly enjoyed hearing about my daughters and their accomplishments through the years. I remember having a discussion about the purchase of their instruments and the makers of each after they acquired the violins, cello, and viola each. He was so well rounded in his knowledge.

My Uncle’s wood lathe hobby was also an inspiration to my father in law. And sharing some of the items that my uncle made often inspired my dad in law to try his hand at certain toy making and kitchen utensils. The coffee scoops that my Uncle turned out of cherry wood or apple wood are some of my favorite. I use them every single day.

What I learned most from my Uncle was how to encourage young people and listen to what they are interested in. I enjoy asking my grand kids or other children “intelligent” questions and getting them to express their thoughts in more than just one word answers. While there were times my Uncle seemed overbearing to others, or a little fixed on a particular subject that i knew nothing aboout, the good that he taught me out weights the bad. And while I never heard him acknowledge that the Supreme Intelligence is the giver of all knowledge and wisdom, I know that God is Him who makes one smart and another not so much. Yet we can learn from every day people just the same as we can learn from those far above our station.

In my coffee grounds jar there lies a scoop, a measure for my daily portion of caffiene allowance, it is the gift of my Uncle’s handiwork and I shall treasure it as I treasure the memory of his input in my life.

One cannot ever really find themself, one is only found by the Great Shepherd. We are all at our core lost sheep. Only by the grace of the Holy Spirit our ears are opened to hear the voice of the Shepherd calling out name. Isaiah 53: “All we like sheep have gone astray, each of us to our own way.”

Hearing that my Uncle was found a day or so after his summons to death was so sad to me. His spending so much of his life alone, and knowing his eyesight loss was similar to mine, it pained me to hear that he was discovered deceased by his good confidant and cousin. How hard it is to go through the personal belongings and try to find all of the important documents and such. How hard it is to make those calls to the officials and the relatives. In the face of death, life marches on and so much has to be accounted for.

What truth does God have for me in Christ during this moment as our family makes the transition to life without my uncle. Of course those who had daily interaction and weekly phone calls, and monthly business dealings, all find themselves making changes.

My life at such a distance will only be affected in the memories and the planned gatherings, and the many phone calls remembering. What matters most I think is how I feel like I did not get to share the truth about God’s gift of my Uncle, to him. I never told him that I believed God gave him an intelligent mind to stimulate those around him to do more and be more. I am also sorry that our visits never got into the spiritual side very often. It just seemed the moment was never right for me to share things along that line of conversation.

I am not without hope, though, as my Uncle was the one who orchestrated both of his parent’s memorial services, with daughters and I providing the music. Both of the services were Christianity based and the gospel message shared. He also attended my dad’s memorial service and told me how pleased he was of his nieces and nephews aftewards.

Fruit basket upset

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Proverbs 27:18 “Whoever keeps the fig tree will eat its fruit, so he who waits on his master will be honored.”

Books this month: “My brother’s keeper” about Gettysburg during civil war. Fellowship of the rings again. “The Long Patrol” by Bryan Jaques, Theo of Golden, 30 Key Moments in the history of Christianity, a mystery about dethroning a blackmail agency, and a modern descriptive journal of an 1880’s young lady. The books have been keeping me company while I count to 159. But meanwhile, I took some breaks to make some baskets.

Journal sibling happenings not an option as someone might read it. So I will leave my much bothered adult siblings and in laws out of the writings. We have had hospitalizations, cancer scares, trip chronicles, parent talks, and exciting baby to be news to share. We still communicate much so that is all a plus!

Journal garden mishaps are not interesting at all. One of the petunia plants in the cream can planters just up and croaked. Not sure why, except it was very soggy! The good news is that my little row of mixed zinnias are in full bloom and the colors are so vibrant. Also the gladiolas that I managed to return to the soil are also putting out the glorious colors and tipping over, I need to get a string up to help them stay upright. The lilies in the various gardens have loved the moisture we are finally getting. And those blooms also stand out in the landscape.

Journal crochet is okay because that keeps me most occupied. While I cannot post the baby blanket until someone sees it first, I will keep chatting up the other projects that I do during breaks from the ever concentrated counting. Some rows sure take me a long time if I’m listening to well to my book on audio. I also don’t always listen very well on the phone as I finish my counting sequenceQ

The baskets have been so fun. The three five gallon pail size were stiffened with some wood glue mixed with water. It took a couple of days to dry in the sunshine or in the bathtub. The little one is an ice cream pail size. I tried a new technique for the stiffness. Crochet a chain using two strands of yarn, then crochet the basket using a single crochet continuum. I was so excited about the natural ability of the basket to stand up, that I immediately began a medium size basket.

Mental health awareness. Hope while focusing on today can sometimes be tricky. Scripture says not to worry about tomorrow because there will be enough troubles in this day alone. There are days that the distant future scares me. Especially if I start thinking about my eyesight or lack thereof. I worry about certain adjustments in lifestayle for myself and those around me.

Three basket sizes completed this last month. The medium and small done with the crochet chain and single crochet continuum method.

Allergy reactions that cause phobia. Anxiety over every bite can be pretty nerve wracking. So eating out has been dropped down to a minimum for the last few weeks. We have to be so careful when ordering food even at simple things. I am about ready to visit an integrated health provider and start figuring out this gut health thing.

Pets and such are generally okay to journal about, except that my son-in-law just had to say goodbye to his eleven year old cat. It was a hard way to let a cat go. No one likes that daily routine change. We miss the constance of pets when they are no longer with us. Right now we have a visiting tom cat that is much like a siren or Casper the ghost. Not real friendly but brave enough to attempt eating on the back deck. I have not seen an all out fight happen, but it seems likely.I call him Siren as he announces his presence in such a fashion. Pretty bold actually.

The fruit basket upset in our life is mostly that the fig tree simply could not handle the spider mite pressure. I also think that a water filter is in the happenings for the greenhouse. We use rural water that is system treated and occasionally the plants roots simple give up under the treated water in the soil. So this fall I will get some rich compost and some more fertilizer for the whole house after the sides get put back together. The whole outer shell is being replaced. Which actually means that right now, the building is naked. I’m planning on doing it in green instead of white. We’ll see if the color change acts as a good luck charm!

Well, I delayed this post long enough that hubby got the last of the wood shell on the dome yesterday. We worked together some until the head cold he had the week prior took up residence in my head. I’m a bit under the weather, but grand doggy comes this week for a vacation stay while my daughter and son in law go on a trip. It’s time to wrap this up and write about something more significant.

Burgundy or Chocolate?

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The last three weeks have been the start of many writings. My journal entries are so scattered. Pinning down an over riding thought or lesson in what the Lord has been teaching me is difficult to grasp. This past month marked the one year anniversary of my dad’s passing. So much and so little has changed since last year. All the days that I thought about telling him something so that his mind’s eye could see what I was describing to him, all the days have passed like a blur. And yet, I still want to tell him, or my mom in law or dad in law something funny that their great grand kids have done. I still hear their voices in some odd everyday happening sharing their bits of wisdom and truths.

Today, struggling to see the difference between burgundy and chocolate I once again wondered how my dad might solve this dilemma. Of course he never crocheted, but he did with help color code his closet of shirts. Red and one end and blue and the other. Funny that while helping my mom put away her laundry after a recent hospital and rehab center visit, she too had some system of color coding in her closet. I feel rather foolish that I have not done the same yet. Especially with my failing eyesight. It would be quite helpful. Why had not I put the burgundy ball of yarn in a separate basket?

We are getting a rainy day for the first time in a month. It is cloudy and overcast with just enough moisture to make the surfaces wet. An actual rain dropping sound would be amazing, but we’ll get what we get, right? I remember clearly my mother in law telling me about the year that the corn still put on a crop just by pulling moisture from the air all season. Wow. So grateful for every “wet” day that we get.

The attempt at making baskets was successful. I actually got three done. They are about four gallon size, I used a five gallon pail to stiffen one so far. One cup of wood glue in two quarts of water, Soak the basket, then pull it over the up turned pail with a plastic bag to keep from adhering to the pail. Drying took about two days. First in the sunshine then in the house because it decided to rain!

Our rule is leave the windows open and pray that will bring some rain!

Well, I lost half of my blog by using the update on a secondary device. Bummer. The large tote of yarn that I bought of market place had some real finds. One was a skein of Alpaca Denim Gold for worth nearly 60 dollars. I made a dragonfly shawl. It’s pretty. I spent the first two hours sorting all of the types of yarn. Also finished a kaleidoscope afghan with some number six yarn. That was a real slippery thread.

My book reads this month worth mentioning are “Theo of Golden” and “My Brother’s Keeper” a civil war diary. Both are middle school to early adult reads. The second was one my mother found at the library in her Rehab Center library. The first a media recommend. I liked them both but did not immediately repeat.

The gardens have been weeded and preen spread. I was so tired of the chore. A box of preen was well worht the effort. The rain has been wonderful as I don’t have haul watering cans those days. The front boxes look lovely this year and the begonia’s on the front dect look amazing after i found a shady spot for them to live. The fig trees are on stuggle bus fashion as the spider mites and aphids are hard to keep at bay. I need to feed the soil I think.

Meanwhile, keeping track of colors of yarn continues to be a challenge. I use my phone apps frequently to tell the difference between colors when there are no wraps on the skeins.

There might be some grand lesson to learn over the last moth, but for the most part I am just struggling to breathe. My nebulizer and I have become well acquainted even though I loath sitting still and not doing anything. Books or videos keep my brain occupied while I puff away on the necessary medicine.

My favorite Bible verse this month is Psalm 121:5, “The Lord is your keeper, the Lord is your shade at your right hand.” It has been excessively warm this past couple of weeks. We had heat index over 113 degrees, feels like an oven out there.

Do this and remember me

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The words of Jesus on the night before his crucifixion are a command that should make us think about what it means to “do” things. Realizing that there is always a motive behind any “doing” is quite humbling. Why do we do what we do? Is it merely self preservation or is it self sacrifice? Jesus showed the way to love, the truth, and what living is all about. We do so much that seems meaningless but is it in remembrance of Jesus? Is it communion more that just the breaking of bread and the drinking of wine?

Thinking about my dad this past month makes me wonder how much of what I do is remembering him? We planted a tree on May 21 in honor of our daughter and son in laws tenth anniversary. Our 35th in just ten days later went a little uneventful. No major memory making there, as the next day became more upheaval that we expected. My mother had a major life event and landed in the hospital for eleven days.

Then Father’s day came along. It was hard for me to focus on my hubby’s dad’s memory when the day marked the year to date after my dad’s passing. Yet there were lots of thoughts about both of them. And just a few days later, I found a new thought process going through my head.

We have so many broken pieces in our lives that need to be picked up. There are the broken relationships that mark how life was lived with or without people. There are the broken hearts and broken bodies that never really seem to heal no matter how much time passes. There are the broken homes and broken houses and broken people that mess up churches and break up families of all sorts. So many broken memories that we have to constantly bring to the master physician. Face it we live in a broken world.

There is a Bible verse that runs through my head often. “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those with a contrite spirit.” (Psalm 34:18). I get the brokenhearted thing as I have many a time felt that bleeding emotional feeling. But what is contrite, what kind of spirit is one with contrition?

Contrite is defined as feeling deeply remorseful and understanding one’s wrongful behavior. It can also be the feeling proceeding repentance. A contrite spirit is one who knows her own sinful motives behind an action and chooses to have a changed of heart. While a broken heart is often caused by another a contrite spirit is evidenced by a “change of heart” when one realizes the wrongs done to another.

Thinking about my husband’s mom and the cookies that she made by the thousands the other day was humbling. First of all our recipe nearly failed because the margarine was not “baking margarine.” It had too much water content. We added and added and added more dry ingredients to get the right consistency. Then of course was the fact that my husband felt like he had murdered the cookies and finally had to walk away for his grumpy attitude. So I tried to finish the job and had to put the dough the fridge to stiffen up because of our 67% humidity. As many times as mom made cookies I don’t remeber that she every was driven to anger over the process. Bother but we were not making cookies in remembrance of her love of baking, now, were we?

Thinking about hubby’s dad and remembering him was easy the other day as his two sons worked together on a project. So muchof what dad did was marked by draining energy over the years and his “good enough” thought process. I find myself deciding the longevity of a project and deciding how much energy I should put into it and than stating that should be “good enough.” It is all based on what really matters to me. Yet I find that motive driving me to be self preserving rather that self sacrificing.

However, I began thinking out Jesus and His life and sacrifice on the cross in the “good enough” terms. Wow, that was mind boggling. Really now, in all of my thoughts about how brokenness has entered my life, I must constantly be reminded that Jesus is Good Enough for ALL of the brokenness. And in all of the times when I have been broken in my motives towards others, Jesus is good enough to give me a change of heart and help me love the way that He would. Yes, Jesus in all of my life experience has always been the “Good Enough” answer for everything.

My father in law loved to make toys and one of the toys I took that he made was a kaleidoscope. . So this month as I thought bout the project I wanted to crochet all of the pieces came together for this journal entry. One of my friends gave me a large sack full of leftover yarn. I thought about all the broken pieces in the little toy. First the pieces of mirror placed in a triangle, then the confetti or colored glass that turns out the designs. Life is like a kaleidoscope, sometimes all those broken pieces put together make a really fun design. It might not seem that way at the time. So all the leftover broken pieces of yarn when put together in the right order can make a real;y fun lapghan-afghan.

So while putting together this leftover yarn into a pretty pattern, I thought about all the broken happenings in our lives this moment. Broken relationships, broken bodies, broken churches, broken work environments, broken career paths, broken families, broken houses, broken car water pumps, broken tooth, and the list goes on. Yet what we do with all of this brokenness matters. Our reaction to one another, to the pieces we have to pick up and the relationships that we put back together matters. We can sweep up the glass and throw it away, or pick up bits and pieces and make a kaleidoscope full of beauty and blessing.

Life gives us a whole lot of little pieces sometimes and what we do with it matters. Do we run away from the challenge to become a better person, learning how to communicate love and care to the broken spirits around us? Or do we go around breaking others hearts by our incapacity to learn new ways of doing things?

Broken hearts belong to God. Hearts that are willing to change are so because God’s Spirit has softened them. Oh, that I would look at my broken heart moments as the softening of the Holy Spirit to become more like Christ.

C2C crochet kaleidescope pattern using left over yarn and a little skein or two of new No. 5 yarn. A little heavy, but it’s like bottling up the heat of summer for a comfy cozy winter afghan!

Oreos or Cheerios?

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Some days I scare myself. Like walking out to the grill the other day and nearly thinking the stairs were closer than they aught to be, and falling. Well, I did not fall, and the stairs were another two steps, but the electrical “fear” shock still went through me. Then there was the day trying to walk in the dark hallway with my granddaughter on my hip. Her cringe every few moments told me I was getting her too close to the doorway or wall for her comfort. So I decided she had feet, and would just have to walk herself when it was not safe for me to carry her.

Left: the Eastern White Cedar that the bird planted at my daughter’s first house, was rescued from a landscape project and nursed along at my greenhouse for four years. We planted it on their anniversary. Right: my little bleeding heart bush is finally taking root and put out flowers. We had one at our house in Minnesota, and I have wanted one ever since.

I mean really, I don’t need to give her the anxiety of electrical shock scares all of the time also. Someone tried to convince me that the feeling I have, anxiety is based on my gut and some imbalance. Well, I know when they happen. Yes, it’s a gut level response. Fear! And the imbalance is the momentary feeling that I’m going to fall.

That has happened. Like a couple of years ago when a little rocker / sliding toddler chair was in the middle of the hall. I crashed over it big time. And the time the little jumper chair was in front of me and I crashed over that unto my knees. When vision fails me, gravity does not.

And now there is the word blenders. Like the day I asked my daughter for some cheerios for dog retrieval treats. I thought I said Cheerios, the oatmeal cereal. Instead my blender mind spit out oreos. They have cocoa powder which is a toxen to little dogs. Really? I think someone stuck a spun in the blender. Or left a spatula in my mind, when I needed a scubbie!

Oh that happened one time… I mean the spoon in the blender. It was a glass blender nearly fifteen years ago maybe. What a mess. The ingredients went all over the kitchen. And the glass broke too. Did I say that was a mess?

Maybe I’m over thinking these. But honestly when the baby’s name takes a pet name replacement, it’s scary. I did not think I was getting old yet.

So next time I say we need some more cereal, don’t forget the breakfast sausages!

Kramer is the most ridiculous cat, he curls up to sleep in the funnel on top of the rain barrel under the down spout. He has become quite the favorite cat (being the only one left and very friendly.)

And in other news, the nightmare about having a “guide” horse happened again. NOOOOO! While I know that horses live longer, a dog has a lot less allergy implications. I am so allergic to horses that I had to take Benadryl every time I took care of Cocoa, and that means he did not get the care he deserved.

Also doing research about hidden ingredients. Dextrose. Is the plant glucose that is a starchy sugar past. It can come from a number of plant starches, and most often is NOT single ingredient. So maybe potato, corn, rice, or other starch plants. Bother.

Book Review: Two books this week worth mentioning. “All the broken places “ by John Boyne and “The pearl” by John Steinbeck. The first is a World War II recovery novel. I don’t particularly care for gruesome details and skipped over most of the gory stuff. The novel is essential about guilt. How we try to reconcile it ourselves. The second is a battle of good versus evil. It is a much shorter story and I recommend it for the middle school ages. A 1947 writing, it is a parable expansion and a good read. The comprehension of treasure and real value is an undertone throughout the book.

The next week our family passes some milestones. My first daughter and son in law celebrate ten years married, while we will celebrate 35. There really aren’t enough words to describe the difference that twenty years makes on marriage. The unconditional, seet, knowing love is far better than aged wine or cheese. It can’t really be explained in one blog or book.

This week a friend donated me a large sack of yarn! Eureka! What fun. Projects are endless options now. We also got part of the garden planted. The two large garden boxes and the tomato tubs. It’s time to do something with myself again. Maybe I’ll just play with dog. We bought him a new ball this week, so he had to take it to bed with him. It’s so funny!

May is nearly over and the entires have been sparse this month. Another milestone was added in the family yesterday… my second daughter announced a precious baby package will arrive around Christmas time. Oh, I am so excited. It’s pretty hard to contain myself. Putting a lid on such news until the foretell permission is granted is difficult.

The exciting part about the whole week was there is a large stash of baby yarn in the bag from our friend. Yay! God knew and provided. Now I can study some patterns and make decisions and pray for another little one to hold! And pray that I won’t call the baby by a pet’s name… “May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in God’s ears and those around me also!”

The last time

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The first time I had an allergic reaction to a food is not a memory that I can track down. May is allergy awareness month. So I thought I’d take a trip down the memory lane of food allergies in my life. If you are not someone with food allergies be thankful. But since I do have them, I am thankful there is a little pink pill that can help. Today we understand more about the allergic response at the cellular level. Whether it’s old fashioned hay fever or a deadly peanut allergy, we have medicines to counteract the bodies negative reaction. Thankful to be alive in this day and age.

What Blueberries have added to my life? Well, another allergy listing. The last time I ate certain foods really sticks in my mind for some reason. And yet, while dwelling on the past is one of my “brain trains” that I am trying to wipe out, the memories we have are what makes us who we are today.

The last time I had a buckwheat pancake was when my daughter was in college and we joined her at the college cafeteria. I remember trying to choke down the dry cake like I had always done all of my life. Pouring on the syrup never seemed to help.. My mouth feels dry and chalky, my throat begins to swell, and while I do not regurgitate, the memeory still comes back like it was yesterday. What were we doing that day? Why were we there? What time of the year was it? Nope, can’t think of any other things except her happy go lucky cheerfulness and her many friends greeted in passing.

The last time I ate potatoes was a church supper gathering. We attended perhaps a fall festival or something with a concert afterwards. My second daughter was with us and my husband also. We went to visit the in-laws for a bit after the event. My head hurt so bad, I was soon on the floor curled up in a little ball. I used my inhaler, but did not know any other options for this horrible debilitating headache that existed for some unknown reason.

The last time I ate frenchfries was in my daughter’s back yard on lawn chairs. We had picked up a meal from the local drive in. Burgers, fries, and sodas. At the time I thought the reaction of throat swelling and asthma was from the mayonnaise on the burger. I had no clue it was actually the french fried potato that was giving me this scary feeling.

The last time I ate a banana was many years ago, and the reaction was only minutes after the second bite. That time I actually did go to the sink and try to throw it up. Not very successful, I then called my mother-in-law to ask her in my dazed state, where she thought I might have the Benadryl at. She was right, it was in the silverware drawer, and she stayed on the line until I felt I could breath again.

The last time I encountered Habanero was the homemade refridgerator pickle jar. The were so spice and ymmy. My husband and I were cleaning out the fridge and he wondered if the pickles were okay. Without even thinking about all of the contents, I grabbed a pickle and ate it. Yep, they are good, I said. Then immediately started swelling up, getting hivew all over my lips and face. Benadryl to the rescue once again.

The last time that I had almond milk was in my coffee at my daughter’s house. I was so sick by mid-day that I called her dad to take me home. I don’t think I understood what was bothering me that day. And using my nebulizer did get me through the worst of it, but I felt pretty awful for nearly a full 24 hours.

The last time that I had papaya, was it’s “gut health chewable” in a pill form I did not even know the papaya was in the pre-biotic vitamin supplement. There were quite a few tropical fruits in the highly processed vitamin. The reaction was quite swift and I barely made it through the morning with the Benadryl and inhaler support. I looked up the contents of the bottle and found papyap to be in the latex family with bananas. Bother.

The last time that I ate sesame seed was in the those lovely garbanzo beans dips from the store. I was eating a lot of such thing through the summer with veggies et cetera. Until the day I had an instant reaction. Again, at home, by myself, took a Benadryl. Suffered the headache and effects for nearly a day. Finally looked up the ingredients and found sesame seed to be high on the “next” list for my full Immune system dysfunction allergy response. Oh, dear. At the time I was not really aware of the whole next concept in my diagnosis.

The last time that I had hazelnut coffee was inadvertently. Having been at my mother’s with my sister, we both figured out she had mixed the grounds and neither one of us could have the coffee. She was the first to spend the whole day sputtering or wheezing from the mixed grounds. Then I thought the coffee had been cleaned out and remade with safe stuff. My brother made the pot that morning, and while I was trying to remake the bedding and do the laundry, I blacked out. I was able to tell my daughter what happened and she found my purse with the Benadryl in it. Thank goodness it was only a trace of the old coffee. The pot just did not get cleaned enough. No more hazelnut grounds for me.

The last time that I encountered a trace of barley landed me in the ER. The little dog’s food has barley in it. I had been washing my hands very thoroughly. Until one day I encounted his treat, and my cookie within the same fifteen minute window. Apparently his treats had barly and I did not wash my hands good enough. This is also the ER visit that earned me a slap on the wrist from my doctor. Next time, she said, just call 911 then administer the EPI-pen while on the phone to the operator. Okay. I mean it was plenty scary.

The last time that I had “egg” noodles in canned chicken noodle soup, was also the first time that I ended up at the ER. I had a bad day altogether with the Canadian fires smoke in the air and the wind during an early May allergy season. Then we ate some soup thinking it was an easy alternative. Not so much. It was also the day before my granddaughter’s birthday party the next morning. We don’t know for sure if it was just the egg noodles, or if the wheat flour was tainted with barley by chance. Not fun. Since then egg noodles are off my grocery list.

The last time I was in the same room with peanuts was in the hospice room with my father-in-law. My brother-in-law was snacking on them and when he began talking behind me, my nearly blacking out, brain warning to move across the room saved me from having to find all over my rescue items. I have had not direct contact with peanuts for many years. And only my sister’s sudden allergy response at adult allergy onset told me to start being careful.

The last time that I reacted to nightshade weed, was in the butterfly garden. It was the first full year into trying to get the flower beds established. And the weeds had gotten out of hand during the heat of August. So I tried to clean them up. Well, I had a full body hives reaction for nearly a full week. It was the year we celebrated my dad’s 80th birthday. All gathering for the first time in many years. It took the full week of around the clock Benadryl to get over the hives. Thank goodness there were no other problems. But it was the height of fall allergy season. So there’s that.

The last time I was around microwave popcorn, I nearly passed out. So there’s this highly processed oil or something that they put in the microwave bags and it is equivalent to the aerosol poisoning that happens for some people. I am one of those people that cannot breathe when the particles enter the air. I’ve known that aerosol sprays are dangerous for me ever since the old lysol sprays, and the bathroom scent sprays. Those have not been in my home for decades. But the popcorn in the microwave caught us a little off guard that last Sunday evening. I have only had a few close calls with popcorn. We have been able to stop the bag opening before I suffer an asthma attack. It’s not fun to be so sensitive to such things. Really I don’t like calling attention to myself. One time, I just made the excuse the dog needed a potty break.

The last time I ate blueberries was in a smoothie that I fixed for myself. Asthma had been haunting me for a few days. I had a couple close calls with corn syrup in Dorothy Lynch, and something was just off. The morning was touch and go with my asthma. But the afternoon smoothie took me out. Half hour later my nose was completely plugged up from inflammation. I took one Benadryl and one Pepcid AC and was lying on the floor in recovery mode. My daughter called face time and told me that another Benadryl was needed as she could see the swelling over the video call. We had to look it up, as I really did not believe blueberries had become a “next” allergy item. Wow – really? Blueberries. Yep. It could be all the pesticides and the preservatives, or it could just be the mold. Either way, I’m done eating blueberries.

The last time I mentioned my allergy problem to someone, I was shot down by words. Words telling me that there are detox options if I would just look them up. Words telling me we have all been poisoned by vaccines and germ warfare. Words telling me perhaps I think to much of myself and my “brushes” with death. So I decided to write this journal entry. Telling about the last time I encountered these toxins in my life. I know the temporary fix for allergies. My father-in-law experienced it after his chemo treatments. I know a few others who have had remission of cancer, allergies, and other immune disorders with the medical use of chemotherapy. No thank you.

So there is always a last time for everything. Some people don’t have to keep track of every item they put into their mouth. Some people don’t care to hear about other’s difficulties. Some people just want to talk about themselves. Some people don’t care that others think before they act. Some people don’t have allergies and refuse to acknowledge that for some people it is a matter of life and death.

I’m glad to be alive. Even if it means attending church where there is a baked potato feed could put me into an asthma attack right in the middle of my playing with the praise team. Don’t worry, I managed to get my inhaler, ask my husband to guard the sanctuary door to keep the smell out of the gathering room. We left through the back door of the church and did not say anything to anyone. But it’s still scary, even if no one wants to hear about my daily struggles.

So maybe the next time someone mentions allergic response you will acknowledge that we are rare folks. Less than one in a million people actually die from an allergic reaction and most of those is an unknown medicine allergy. While food allergies are rare less than 1 percent of people have peanut or potato or barley or nightshades allergies, having a long list of allergies is also rare. I would suppose that makes me special. Just so long as I don’t become one in a million, I’m doing okay.

Code Name Message

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I recently came across some studies about the coded messages in Scripture through looking at the names in the genealogy lists. There are several available links on the web if you just search it. The Messianic Message encoded in the Genesis chapter five list of names was the first one that I looked at. Then there is Matthew chapter one and others. It’s kind of fun. So I thought, why not loopk up my own family heritage and their name meanings.

So the first task was to find all of my mother lineage or the matrilineal. Somehow I could only go back four generations. My great-great-grandma Helen was a school teacher in Nebraska. And I did not find any information on her mother or where she came from.

While sharing all the facts on the web, and putting myself out there in care of identity fraud scares me some. So I’ll do my best at encoding. Haha If you read my blog all the way through maybe there is something to be learned.

Beginning with Yvonne a derivative of Yew wood. What? The Yew wood evergreen tree in Europe is an enduring long lived tree of short stature. Yep, that’s me the shortest one in the family. While long lived is yet to be seen, endurance doesn’t seem as far fetched. When I was able to run track in junior high, I ran the last and longest leg of the relay. So for a short time I did have endurance in my running ability. But longevity in my ability to play piano has proved true. Even though I can no longer read the music, I am graced with new listening skills every year.

Recently listening to the songs of faith in relation to Holy week, I played “The Holy City” for the first time with no music. It was always so hard when I had to read the music and figure out all of the symphonic rhythms and such. I was quite pleased with myself for learning the new song and just have to work on the third verse yet some.

My middle name Annette means “God gives favor or grace.” And I think I already heard that before. My maiden name with all it’s connections to my father gets into being “high born” or “breeding stock.” Which is kind of funny when I think how important my Grandpa’s cows were to him. He had more pictures of his cows than any other thing. I like to think of the meaning more about the mercy God showed me in leading me to be born again through Christ. And finally my married name meaning scholar or scribe, brings me to realize yet again just how much writing means to me. God gives me endurance, grace, a higher calling to write what will matter to the next generation.

Llangernyw Yew Wood tree in Great Britain. Looked up history of oldest Yew tree and found this wikipedia link! Fun Facts!

Now to the matrilineal message God has given me. Helen who was a milliner means “bright and shining one.” I know that God is the true Light. Helen’s daughter Marie was a school teacher, homemaker, and mother. I wore her wedding dress at my own wedding. The delicate hand stitched roses were so pretty. Marie means “beloved.” And that’s truly how I felt that day and ever since. Marie’s daughter Mildred was her second daughter. Mildred means “gentle strength” and that is truly how I view my grandma. She was verbally abused as a child for being a girl instead of a boy and did not let that affect how she treated her five children or 18 grandchildren. My mother’s name Sharon means “a fertile, level plain.” I think of my mother as being the one who cultivated each of her children to accept the seeds of eternal life. When the whole message is put together I see God’s handwork in the message of love for me. God the bright shinng Light calls me His beloved, giving me strength and spiritual fertility in my soul for endurance.

The surname message is almost the same. Yahweh the Gracious God is faithful. More faithful than the rising sun, the Lord of the morning is Lord of the harvest. He who made the seed, plants the seed and harvests the seed gives life. God planted eternity within my heart. Born of the Spirit into a Higher calling to write and study His ways! Yes God is the gracious, faithful, morning star, planting and reaping the souls of hearts whom He has written eternity upon. I love that verse in Ecclesiates that says that. Ecclesiastes 3:11. “God has put eternity in man’s heart.”

Names do have meanings. And many people name their children sill alphabetical names without thinking of the future implications. Both my daughters were named after pretty flowers. So there’s that. I did not look up the grandmothers names on my paternal set. But I did do the full sentence of surname and first names.

Yahweh, the Bright and Shining is faithful to His beloved. The Warrior (Lord) of the morning is gentle and strong. The Reaper will sow an enduring forest! Another sentence says “The enduring words sown in the fertile soul will be a harvest. Like the strength of the morning sun overcoming the cold of night, God is gentle, faithful to His Beloved the Lord Yahweh shines life through every breath that I take.” There are so many ways that God speaks to us. Are we listening?

This week is Holy Week in the Christian calendar. The weather is giving us another roller coaster ride. One day we wear t-shirts and the next day dig out the winter coat again. Preparing for Easter for me will be cleaning up that first bed room again. And making a menu for my grocery man.

We got my mother moved back to assisted living after her rehab stay. That was exhausting. So much. Just plain much. I hope we can do some more to make her rooms more accessible in the next visit also. So perhaps that’s what I ought to be focusing on here also. It’s just so much easier to to sit and crochet.

Enough of my field entrance ramblings, the topic at hand is names. I took a look at the names of those mentioned in the Gospels who stayed with Christ beneath the cross. John 19:25, “Now there stood by the cross of Jesus His mother, and His mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Cleopas, and Mary Magdalene.” (Also His disciple John). Mary has three or more meanings. And there were three of them there, so Beloved, bitter, and rebellious all seem appropriate. Magdalene means woman from the high tower or watch tower. Yes, she did certainly watch her Lord until the end. Cleopas means “Glory of the Father”. And yes, that fits also as Jesus was the Glory of God come down to earth. John means God is gracious, or Yahweh is gracious. And yes the emblem of the cross has become synonymous with God’s grace. The interaction at eh foot of the cross between Jesus, John and His mother Mary has been repeated often. For in this directive, He commanded John to take care of His mother. It is an intensely private and special moment.

Perhaps it resonates so well with me after having watched three of our four parents enter into eternal rest over the last year. There were not a whole lot of commands or directives at the last moments. Except for my father-in-law’s statement “I’m not worried about tomorrow.” There was nothing else said that really sticks in my mind as a directive or command. Yet, I watched my husband taking care of my mother this past week or two in the same manner of love and care that he did with those who have gone before. We do what we can while we have them.

The generations that have gone before us are God’s message to us that He provided for us. The generations that come after us are those to whome we have the chance to write on the tablets of their hearts His grace and mercy. And another small bit of wisdom I heard this week: the meaning of our life is to find our God-given gifts and the purpose of our life is to give those gifts away.

Final thoughts on names. You might remember my name when you meet me. But there is one name that is far more improtant to know. Proverbs 30:4 says, “Who has ascended into heaven, or descended? Who has gathered the wind in His fists? who has bound the waters in a garment? Whao has established all he ends of the earth? What is His name, and what is His Son’s name, if you know?” Jesus means “savior of the world” and He gave His life away so that we might know Him. Do you know His name?

What did you think was going to happen? 

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Going to church for children’s message is still my thing. I get so much more out of the little happenings in those five minutes. This past Sunday it was the orange that sinks or floats lesson. The seal of the Holy Spirit on our lives is like the cloak of the orange peel. When we listen to His prompting to obey the Lord and ask for help from the Father when we are treading water. So the object lesson is a pitcher of water in which first the orange peeled gets dropped in the water as we try to do everything on our own. But when we put on the life vest of Jesus Christ, we are saved. Pastor put his hand into the pitcher to retrieve the sunken orange only to have water go everywhere. One little child repreated his parents words in automatic response, “What did you think was going to happen?” As the congregation ripples with laughter and the water spill requires a towel, the lesson continued with the orange keeping it’s cloak of peeling and floating on top of the water just as it should. Two lessons or three in one! Don’t sink and drown wear you life vest. Don’t try to do things on your own, ask for help from the Lord. And Don’t fill the pitcher too full, because you will soon need a towel (helper) to wipe up of the spill. And maybe, think before you act, so that there is not a mess in the first place.

Changing weather is so hard. It’s like a roller coaster of wind, warm, and cold as we head into spring. The first day of spring here was Friday. And Saturday the alarm in the greenhouse went off at 99 degrees Fahrenheit. I rotated all of the fans and worked early in the morning repotting some of the geraniums. The Mother’s Day starts are all ready now and will just require water until the day. Maybe flower clean up every two weeks. Then on Monday morning, (today) the alarm went sounded again as the temperature in the greenhouse dropped to 39 degrees. Bother it’s hard to keep up with this pendulum swing.

I have always known the weather to be hard on the animals. A few years ago just about Easter, our little rescue Eva found the end of her days. Tabitha was her buddy cat. They had slept together, shared the dog hut, and generally layed around together for two years. When Eva was getting her last loves, Tabitha came over and rested on her legs one more time. It was so sweet to see them caring for each other. I cried much over that parting. Tabitha was mad at me for three days after that. She wouldn’t even return to the porch. Finally though she did, and spend many of her best days as our favorite porch cat ever. Way too many ways to say goodbye. Tabitha developed kidney failure in the last month. I knew she did not feel well the last few days, because she was one of those “potty trained” cats. When I took the dog out, in the morning, she had to go do her thing on the edge of the grove also. It’s always hard to say goodbye to pets.

Best front porch cat ever, Tabitha had her faults as a kitten, getting stuck in the mulch bin with another cat Boomerang. And she spend two or three wellness spa visits in the greenhouse recuperating from double respiratory infection, and then a sinus infection, and then skin tears from a mean male tomcat. She was on medicines more than any of our other cats. And she was also in the house more often on my lap than any other cat. She followed me to the greenhouse until she did not. We thought maybe she had lost some hearing from the sinus infections. She just did not choose to leave the porch very often. Tabitha found refuge in the boxes that we put out on the porch.

Maybe some cats are angels. You know there are some people that really don’t think cats are good. They do tend to cut you off at the top of the deck stairs many times as if the joy of watching humans tumble to the ground is in them. But then there are the cats that give people new leases on life, and a purpose for living. These cats could be angels in disguise. Tabitha was so good with the kids also. She just put up with so much.

Then there’s the morning greetings that constantly change throughout the years on an acreage. Missing Cocoa’s whiney or snicker took nerly two years to get over. Now it’s Tabitha’s morning perch on the porch deck box as she waited for us to come out. As soon as my feet hit the floor in the bedroom she exited her little warm box, and sat in the deck box waiting for a morning pat on the head. It is the one thing about daily duties that makes life worth living. Daily greetings form a dog, a cat, a horse, or any other such vocal being reminds me that the Lord walks with us and wants such close relationship also.

We were made to be in relationship with others. From pets to people, God reminds us that He is very creative in reminding us that He is real and true and loving and faithful. I will miss Tabitha’s daily expectations.

“When we walk with the Lord, in the light of His word, what a glory He sheds on our way….” Lyrics from the song “Trust and Obey” by Don Moen