The Duke of Cottonwood Place

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Our acreage has never had a “name.” It is literally called “the place” where dad grew up. The family homestead is about to experience some major changes, but we aren’t advertising any of those plans due to the potential for future troubles. But the thought that the two old cottonwoods in their past century age might be due to fall soon makes me so sad, that I have wanted to give them their rightful place of honor. The first cottonwood lies just to the west of the original dugout sod house. The tree lived for it’s many buckets of wash water dumped upon it’s base for those first years back in 1860. It lost a large branch over the road just four years ago. Still standing it may be nearly 160 years old. But no one is in any hurry to count those rings. The second cottonwood is just west of where the little wood second home was built. Or perhaps the chicken shack that they used for a few years. It is reported that it would have been planted in 1880 or earlier as that is the date of the little old house. So it perhaps is around 145 years old. Once again no one is itching to count the rings. If I am alive when either goes down, I surely will cry.

Our acreage has always had some animals of some sort, and though farm animals have disappeared and the barn is empty, the cats and dogs will find a lifetime of experiences and happenings a plenty. Cottonwood Place is home to seven cats, two dogs, and two gentle folks that will welcome many a visitor along with the homecoming for the girls that grew up here.

King Charles the third was crowned shortly after we received a rescue named Charlie. The idea that Sir Charles had taken over the guardianship of the acreage was pretty evident. Charlie is the kind of independent dog that simply will not come when he is called off his “track.” So when the delivery van pulls up and does not treat the cookie king with a morsel, we are sure to hear about it for the next few minutes. And asking Charles to leave the van and return to the deck is nearly impossible. Cookies help some, but most of the time, even snatching one cookie, he is soon back to the same old barking fit. There are days, he actually hits the front door with a paw to demand his snack.

Poor dog, other than seven cats and his house people, there is not “animal” shepherding. The cats don’t even get a once over most days. Charlie simply ignores them or steps directly on a cat that is too lazy to move. And now Dasthe saga of cat stories.

This past summer, I tried to add to our hunting crew with some kittens. We lost all but one to the vehicular homicide. I don’t know why some cats are so drawn to the roadsters. Both car and pickup had mouse nest somewhere in the front end during their annual tuneups this fall. Maybe that’s why. But really. We’ve even had to replace serpentine belts due to cat suicide. What is with them things? I know some cat lovers find this quite gruesome, but really, when you live on an acreage animals are really just animals.

The match of Zuch (pronounced Zuke) versus Yin Yang began almost immediately. One day the newcomer actually made it to the back deck feed dishes. For the most part the black and white face symbolixm has stuck to the distance.

Such in the left and Yinyang on the foundation leave hole

After Zuch came back, we took the remainder in for neutralization. He and Boots came back just fine and I really thought we were stuck with just three. Tabitha is still here. I’m not really sure how old she is, maybe seven or eight years. Then about a month ago, the wanderer arrived. We have never seen this cat before.

Black and white saddle back cats are a dime a dozen, really. They seem to be everywhere. The other most common is the grey striped coat. This one has some unusual markings on the face. After finally getting a good picture of him sitting in the common perch, I decided it was just like the symbol for Yin-yang. And so it is. Yinyang and Zuch are still duking it out though. It might be a long battle before the new comer is allowed a morsel of dry kibble.

The cat fights aside, the four-some that came from my sister got their names from the wild, confused, ever present Kramer. We named them after the Seinfeld television show. They have all seemed to take on the personalities of various common known favorite episodes. Kramer has entered the house a number of times in his haste to share some story line. “I must’ve got confused!” Is the most common phrase we declare. At least he is easy to get back out. All four seem to be so underfoot, we call them the Seinfeld gang. Funny how each one of them seems to be taking on the character qualities.

The Seinfeld Gang-Kramer and Costanza left to right followed by Seinfeld and then Bennes on the bottom.

Meanwhile, my hubby and I got through our first January cold virus. Lots of hot liquids and vitamins. My favorite warm drink this week was some chicken broth. We decided to take down the Christmas tree and put the daybed in it’s rightful place in the front window sunshine. What good is a daybed if it’s not in the sunnniest spot in the house.

Updates are always quite delayed when one is not well enough to do anything other than care for own needs. So, I took some time to let the dust settle on the last writing. Probably said way too much. The cat saga here on the homestead is about all the happenings there is in the winter days. The bitter temperatures always makes me amazed how animals get used to such bitter temperatures. We added some fish fat canned cat food to their daily fare. The first day, I nearly lost a finger trying to give them the can of food. Leaned that lesson well.

The beginnings of the chips ahoy remake, a crochet project. Kona on the day bed in the front window a new watchdog posting.

The blanket got renamed “cinnamon toast crunch” after it’s completion. Not all the blankets have names. Sometimes Gavin just claims them by calling them “mine” or “my blanket.” Silly. Saying it’s his favorite means nothing when he says that about every one of them. The Stitch is my favorite, though. Entrelac Crochet makes the perfect blanket feeling!

This writing seems a little random, I know. That might be due to cabin fever setting in. Not sorry for getting hung up on the Ents in our lives. If trees could talk, those two ancient ones would tells the whole story I am sure. And though animals are not “human” we sure put a lot of chrarcter reads into their actions. P.S. Seinfeld took a trip to the never world on the road the other day. Bother , at least he’s not a favorite.

Provocations

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Don’t take the bait! This is the best advice that I have ever had or given when it comes to provocations. Whether intensional or exceptional malevolent another’s actions or speech can often drive an emotional response that even surprises the respondent. And yes, unfortunately I have been on either end of the action or spoken misstep. Yet, afterwards it’s my own emotional anxiety that is the temperature gauge that tells me, I took the bait. How did I fail so miserably with this recent provocation.

Letting go of intended or unintended sins against my personhood is part of the constant “forgiveness” lifestyle. Because whether people know it or not, feelings are fickle things, and words often hurt more than they are ever meant too. Forgiving current happenings are often easier than putting back the old dry bones in long lost family closets. Yes, Great Grandma Millie, everyone has skeletons in the closets. It’s those old wounds that fester and turn into anger cesspools when the cisterns are not properly dealt with and dug up when there are least expected. Just when you thought the gravel pit had filled it all in, suddenly there is a leak in the storage tank that was still there. Bother, here we go again finding another painful memory to rehash.

While dealing with the wills and trusts and those left behind things of deceased parents, much has come to mind of the fair treatment or unfair treatment that each child receives. Of course each child probably always thinks that another has the “favorite” treatment.

From the book “Anne of Green Gables”. A quote from Marilla Cuthbert while discussing the bringing up of a girl to her brother Matthew, “I’ve never brought up a child, let alone a girl, and I reckon I’ll make a fine mess of it, but nevertheless I will try my best.” Indeed every parent has made a real fine mess of parenting I dare say.

Lots of flowers in the greenhouse but these two get my attention most. summer gardenia and yellow kalanchoe.

So I suppose it best to take the advice of the old minister, unless you are a parent yourself, don’t give parenting advice. And of course, I have one daughter in the woes and bliss of parenting and the other in the woes and bliss of people management. Two entirely different occupations but nonetheless difficulties of relationships that arise regularly upon which advice is sought.

Being the peacemaker in the family is not my strong suit, but yet being in the ministerial position of come to terms with the moment’s of life is part of what I feel God has tasked me with. Or rather, maybe, finding peace with the life that God has dealt to each of us. I often see people in their moment of difficulty grasping for the answere that is only answered by our Lord.

In the middle of the “chips ahoy” remake. Not sure I like it, but the fabric is so wonderful. It’s the dark nature of the color combination. So even after a remake, it’s not what I would choose. Gavin helped with the color sequence.

I remember distinctly when my father, with a tear rolling down his face, admitted he was having trouble being patient. The only answer that I could give him was Jesus. God is the supply of our every desperate cry. And so, too, now when my family has arrived at a conclusion that is unexpected, some of us must look to His aid in our time of need. Keeping the peace and not letting this moment become a wedge that drives us apart is the battle cry that I have taken up.

Disillusions realized can be quite disheartening. Every adult-child finds themselves at one point or another in the understanding that a parent they thought was invincible or perfect, has toppled from their pedestal. I remember when I first realized that adults could be untrustworthy. At the age of sixteen or so, I was sexually assaulted by an elderly church member. Perhaps this is telling too much. My father stood up for me a resolutely refused to attend the church ever again, if there were no disciplinary steps taken. The church did not remove the elder’s status. My father never went to that church again. He took the opinion that church was full of hypocritical child molesters from that point forward. And to my dismay, my mother continued to attend the church freely forgiving the person who so dismantled my innocence. I never told the rest of my siblings that this was part of the larger puzzle that helped my parent’s marriage fall apart.

I saw this happen. I did not blame myself. For our family had done many a winter puzzles. I knew it was just one piece. But I found that I had not fully comprehended the battle that was going on between the two until decades later. My dad felt that just as this man must of abused me, perhaps my mother’s “spiritual” loyalty was in fact adultery or some other sin. He could not understand her choice to attend the church of an elder whom had so abused his daughter. Of course we won’t discuss his own abuse to he children and wife, that was family and his “right” to treat them as he did.

A small note about family genetics here… My father received the retinal disease RP from his mother, and he in turn passed it on to three of six children. Some find the possibility of blindness absolutely frightening, while those of us with the reality see it as just another part of living. Being legally blind provides a chance to understand that is okay to ask for help, because it gives another to discover the gift of giving. While one may find it difficult to ask for help, a blind person must. This character change moves one from blindness to discernment and those who are honest and helpful rather than seeking a reward for their labor are discovered. Discernment in personal character is not just gifted to some individuals. This “seeing” of another’s motive is learned by trial and error. My dad learned to “see” through people in a way that many people never can. Blindness is not always blind!

So there. The truth or some of the truth has been spilled. Provocations whether purposeful or not happen. Emotions and natural responses happen in the heat of the moment. Decisions are made that ripple throughout the decades. Just like Sarai’s choice to give her servant girl to Abraham, generations pay for the sins of the fathers and mothers no matter if restitution is paid. Choices have consequences.

While this is the most abstract painting that I have ever written, I hope that it has not provoked someone to anger or revenge. I have no desire to take on more than what I am responsible for. We alone can control our own actions. It is not up to us to judge or decide what another’s appropriate or inappropriate actions ought to be. Always and ever the only person we can control is ourselves. And so now in the light of past actions that have been revealed, once again it is only my reaction and my response to this moment in time that I can control and prevent a ripple effect that does not create a tsunami of emotions from others.

I pray for our family that we never led the past of the present divide us. God wants families to stay together, to work together, to love on another and be His voice to the world. Satan wants to steal, kill and destroy and I will not let him get a foothold in our family during this unsettling time. We will not make decisions in the heat of this difficulty that change the outcome of our togetherness over the future decades. Choices have consequences. And I will not regret my actions. I choose to love, to forgive, and to keep peace in the family.

From beinging to the end

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If you have followed me for any amount of time, you might know that I love sharing my Bible readings and insights. Today of course is another of those. And I also love sharing tips about how to expand your thoughts towards God.

I finished the year with a new mosaic crochet tile pattern. Learning curve for me as the green with white one that I did had too many stitches and needs a remake. And of course there is the stash of yarn that’s hope for a hook. I do plan a remake on the “chips ahoy” blanket that I never really liked. I hope to do some sort of add-in and perhaps I will like it then. Or give it away!

Ecclesiastes 3: 11 is a very often quoted verse from the scriptures. Most people know the first part, “He has made everything beautiful in its time.” But many do not know the middle section, “He has put eternity in their hearts…” and I venture that some have no idea the last part of the verse is in the same verse as the beautiful quote, Here it is “…except that no one can find out the work that God does from beginning to end.” Wow, making everything beautiful is God’s mysterious work and no one has that understanding. There is that moment when the caterpillar becomes the butterfly, when is that exact moment?

God has put eternity in our hearts. Today my dear little cousin is going through yet another colon surgery. The surgeries that he has had are going into the second set of digits on the hands. I cannot imagine the thoughts and fears that he has experienced in his young life. Yet, God has worked eternity into his heart and he asked to be baptized this past Sunday before the upcoming surgery. Such blessed assurance the Lord is working out in his life and those who know him. surely, we cannot find out the work that God is doing from beginning to end.

So today as the beginning of a new year dawns, I wonder at all those who celebrate with hope and joy what God will work in others lives around me. Just like you, the past year held so many tragic images, I want to focus on the beauty that God brought to me.

While my physical eyesight continues to to fail me, and I wonder why things look so blurry, I will gain a better vision of a clear future in eternity. With those who have gone before me, I can hope for our renewed gatherings in glory. The holidays have changed so much without the visits of those whom we held dear. Now heaven is feeling more and more like the “hope of home” than it ever has before. It is no wonder that the older one becomes, the more homesick we are. It is easier for me to imagine my father’s clear vision restored in glory than it is for me to imagine the garden in it’s July prime this next summer. (It’s the weeds that do me in.)

This year in its beginning, I choose hope. The other day as I tried to clean out the library, I asked for my husband’s help. It did not go really well well, and my herbage became nearly worth the little garbage pail in the room. Finally, I asked him to leave, and I would finish the clean up myself. Yes, he was helpful at reading the titles and such, but that task was done, and now it was time to find a new home for the menagerie of items displaced. I did get it done in case you want to know. But it was a new beginning to me, having help with a task that I have done by myself for the past thirty plus years.

And so the beginning of the year has arrived with its new beginnings and its hope for positive endings, like a clean room that one can breathe in once again. Hope is often hard to grasp. The Bible says that “Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things unseen.” Hope then can be defined as the expectation of a future outcome that drives one to act upon its believed outcome. How does one translate hope into action. Faith that is not active is not full of hope.

The most common simplified version of Hebrews 11:! “ We walk by faith, not by sight.” Yet Faith does have sight! The vision or dream of what will be is what keeps the faithful moving forward towards the prize or the high calling of Christ. Yes HOPE is the ability to see what is not there. The dreamers capacity is HOPE!

From the beginning of this year, I do not know how its end will be. There are so many hopes and dreams. Like the garden of bulbs planted in the fall that one hopes for in the spring, I must decide to do the work of dividing the soil and placing the dead looking object into the ground. Seed planting is how my brain works. Now I must translate the hopeful bulb garden into everyday life and keep “walking by faith.”

Yearly Yarn About 2025 (crochet review)

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January began with the leftovers project. This beautiful Entrelac stitch blanket is one that I like so well that it sits on a rocking chair as the cushion. I don’t think at this point I will ever give it away, unless of course I decide to make another that is more keeping to our new / old house in it’s farmhouse style. Luxurious creamy earthy colors minus the browns, haha.

February was such a hard month. Saying goodbye to my mom-in-law while crying over my crochet hook. This flower motif turned out so pretty even though it was leftovers. Maybe the new year has a brand new flowers from the Wild Things by crazy crochet cat lady.

March came along with a new pattern purchase again. This time from Tinna from Tinna’s Crochet Club. The hearts are so versatile and so many different ways to do them. I started off with two pillows for our everyday use. And the obsession continued throughout the year.

April found me making a crochet afghan for the tenth anniversary of my nephew and his wife in honor of Valentine’s Day weddings. It was a real blast to make and buying all new yarn was also fun.

May found me going back to an old stitch standby. This is the larks-foot stitch. The two skeins are supposed to be reverse image colors. I thought this prayer shawl rainbow effect was pretty. Much to pray for as my dad entered his hospice care.

June was more like an end than beginning. So I started the thin flowers with ends from the Wild Things collection. It would be for a random person that I met while shopping for yarn. It was a great challenge for me with it’s color choice, but doing it for an “order” was so enjoyable. Saying goodbye to yet another parent, my dad, would make me glad I was giving the project away.

In July I found some baby fleece yarn to make a couple of blankets for the new expected one in August. Though it was not my original idea for a baby blanket, it is so soft and useful!

August came with it’s heat and not much time for crochet. So the only finished project was this little sweater stitch scarf. It is super soft and comfortable. While it is warm, it also feels cool to the touch because of the rayon yarn.

September found me finishing the made to order strings of flowers. It turned out beautiful. It was my most difficult project to date. I was so proud of it, but happy to share the joy and give it away.

October brought me down to size a bit. So I came back to the Freyja pattern by Tinna. This beautiful prayer shawl is part of a do-over. I am quite pleased with and it really needs to find a home.

November found me stuck on the Freyja, and I did another prayer shawl only with a red brick background. I love this one too. And yes, it has not found a home yet.

Finally, December arrived and I needed some small projects that I could do quickly and feel accomplished. These little ornament wreaths were just the thing. And it is totally my own design. I used the reverse crab stitch to make the wreath part. The center is a chain that used single crochet stitches around to create the interior of the wreath. Pretty easy and only took about an hour to complete.

And now it’s time to count the wrappings. I have a bag of them somewhere, perhaps I’ll be able to find them. There were forty seven wrappings in the bag. There is a slight chance that a few packagings were misplaced. So I could safely say that I crochet a skein of yarn each week, 52 skeins of varying sizes and styles. Some are small like sock yarn balls, while others are giant jumbo supersized skeins. All in all that’s a lot of yards! Looking back over the year sure makes me want to begin a new project and buy some more yarn. Oh, dear this addiction is getting out of hand!

“The cold curses the warmth which it desires…”

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J.R Tolkein book review of “The Hobbit” and Book one of “the Lord of the Rings.” Series of books about Hobbit tales of the middle world. While I do not believe in the underlings, half-lings, little people or even the garden gnomes that I might put in my greenhouse, the imagination of such things does keep one ocupied in the midst of possible complete boredom. I actually convinced my hubby to watch the movie Trilogy “Lord of the Rings.”

One thought that keeps reoccurring for me is when Gollum calls the ring “My precious” and I see the discernment of those who would die over something that they will not let go of. What will I hang on to until the death of me because I consider it so precious? For some people it is their independence, for others it is love of other things. What do I hang onto with so much of my might?

Some voices are perfect for falling asleep to. I think of all those times that I went to the sheep barn in the middle of the night and WNAX our local farm radio had it’s programs with all of the UFO sightings etcetera in the middle of the night. Yep, if you stay away all night of course you might begin to believe in all the conspiracy theories out there. You are tired and not thinking straight. Sleeping to “The Hobbit” has become a pretty normal habit for me. If that does not work, then I use my voice only audio Bible as back up. But even then, much of my life at night is spent being awake.

Listening to the explanations at the beginning of the book for the “Two Towers” I found myself nearly in tears as I thought of those whose “precious” thing is eating them alive. The pity and compassion that we should have towards others must not be based on how awful they look of behave. Our compassion should come from knowing the God who in his love for the world, sent His only Son so that we all could be in relationship with Him. Eternal life that is free from. All the sin, guilt, shame, pity, devouring passions of this world.

Pity for the wretched beings must come from the Father of Love and the one who says, “We love because HE first loved us.” If it weren’t for people, loving God would be easy. But God wants us to love Him by loving the people that He has placed in our lives. We love God most when we love the least deserving of the those He puts in our lives to love. Who is my “Smeagol?” Would I let this person lead me to the brink of death?

Moving beyond pity for the wretched towards love and hope that they too will know the peace of God is our ultimate heart challenge. If we are eaten up by hate towards anyone, God gives us the answer in the book of I John. “If anyone hates his brother whom he sees, how then can he love God whom he cannot see?” (I John 4:20) Chapter two shows us that the light of God is not in us if we harbor hate towards a fellow human being.

The story of those who encounter Gollum and do not kill him for the pity of the individual that is so wretched, alone, lonely, and depraved, nearly brought me to tears. I pray that we would soon learn to desire that none should perish. I pray that just as God desires all to come to repentance, we too would hope for the spirit of remorse to be born in the soul’s of those around us.

“The Lord is not slack concerning His promise, as some consider slackness, but long suffering towards us, not willing that any should perish but that all should come to repentance.” 2 Peter 3:9 (ESV)

How does this kind of love translate in my life? Well, today my wretched being is taking hold. The battle against myself rages on. For one thing the family’s upcoming gathering is a “foodie” event. I am not a foodie and it seems every dish will be inedible due to my allergies. It is so hard to enjoy the anticipation when it holds so much anxiety. Unfortunately I let that enter a recent text in a group chat. Bugger, but I am a sinful human being.

Our grand-dog is here for a few days. After about day three, his displacement from home really sets in. I do feel for him, but the constant underfoot thing gets annoying. So we think about Octave’s visit to our house for four days… Kind of like having all four from the Seinfeld group our cats in the house, always wherever you want to step. Having a dog without purpose in my house is pretty difficult. He may have purpose at his home, but here, it’s just putting up with a critter in the way. He comes when I call Kona to do his job (find the empty water bottle that fell off the counter). He comes when I try to go out the door and stands in the way of the door handle. He comes when I go to the sofa and sits in my place. He Does Not Come when you call him inside. I refuse to beg my daughter’s dog to do what he should. The roles seem to be reversed. No thank you. So yeah, after four days he is feeling a little home sick. It it might go both ways. Poor thing, just wants to be loved. Come on, Oma, be nice!

So how does the cold curse the warmth in my life? And now on to the next thing. The home phone does not work and they are suppose to come fix it today. Be a whole lot of bark noise soon!

Peace On Earth Good Will to All

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December 14, 2025

Today is a blessedly cold and sunny day that began with the temperature at negative 13 degrees Fahrenheit. We considered our thirty-degree warm up by one p.m. to be quite balmy. The wind still had a bit of sting to it as I let out our little furball to do his thing. It was after our arrival home from the afternoon outing that I decided it was high time to update our entire correspondence list on all of the happenings in our family.

This afternoon we had the pleasure of attending the performance of a local Community Theatre’s production of “The Christmas Carol.” Our daughter Lennea’s husband Garret was the lead character Ebenezer Scrooge. It was a very enjoyable outing. Garret is the town’s High School Band director and has participated in a number of community theatre productions. Lennea is the Director of Equalization for our local county. She still plays her cello for various groups when invited and we were blessed to watch the musical at the university fine arts theatre with the production of “Bright Star.” They also participate in a local church hand bell choir. And this year for extra enjoyment they purchased an old church building to renovate.

Yoland and Joshua have added to family’s number with the birth of little Joseph in August. He is such a good little baby, and we all fight over getting to hold him. Noelle will be two years old before the week is out. She seems to emit the Joy of Christmas every day in her little life. Her laughter and greeting are so bubbly! Melody is now four years old and quite the little artist. She loves drawing, coloring, painting, and using markers any chance she gets. Isaac is now five years old and the best little helper. He is always willing to jump up and retrieve any item. Isaac’s love for golfing increased much this summer with a first golf camp experience. He is just such a natural. Isabelle is now 7 1/2 and just recovered from her tonsil’s being removed. She is a busy little girl, and no one can seem to keep up with her. She just loves learning and trying new things and really enjoys being the BIG sister.

Joshua continues to work in the security world. He also loves to mentor other young men and enjoys taking his kids with him golfing. They took a small army of help to move to a new house the month before new baby was born. Yolanda is a busy mom of five now and continues to home school the elementary age children. We all think she is the family’s ”Super Mom” and are grateful that God qualifies her for this calling of motherhood. Oma (myself) tries to help and support once a week to fold laundry. And Opa (Gavin) lends his aid when called upon

Our life has been much occupied the last few years with caring for aging parents. It started off two years ago with my mother Sharon having a stroke that changed her life and ours much. After helping empty the house to sell it we really thought life could not be more complicated. Then Gavin’s dad and mom seemed to be aging by decades instead of days right before our eyes. Dad Jay passed away after suffering a fall in October of 24. We spent the next four months watching Mom Cleos’ broken heart crush the juice out of our spunky, happy lady. Meanwhile, my dad Wayne had decided that he did not want to go through more cancer treatments. Mom Cleo passed away in February. And just four months later Wayne passed on also.

Our wounded hearts are beginning to heal, maybe. It’s pretty hard to see the winter come and these first holidays without parents and find that in reality, it finally feels less like winter than it looks. Seasons of the heart rarely match the actual season of the year. And yes, we do not mourn as those who have no hope, for each of these three losses are full of the hope of one day reuniting in glory. It’s just hard to believe that we would say goodbye to three parents in just eight months’ time. Truthfully speaking, Sharon is not quite the same either. So, this growing old is rough.

Our focus has not been all gloomy for the past two years or more but trying to write Merry messages from the midst of grief is not easy. I have still kept up with my blog writings every once in a while and many have kept up with our family that way. However, I know some people do not follow me there, so I though perhaps, it was time to make my husband address some envelopes once again and let everyone know we still live in the same place! (No address change here.)

Gavin is still working out of the Sioux Falls warehouse / manufacturing facility that he has been at for eighteen years now. He is now in his fourth or fifth position or “title” since the first one and also about that many company name changes. Haha. His quality of service and leadership only continues to grow. And I am always proud of his work ethic.

I remain at home and quite occupied with keeping up with all the families’ happenings. I still love to crochet, tend the greenhouse, and take care of my menagerie of pets. We have a very independent guard dog Charlie outdoors, a hand full of mousers (cats) and a little black doggie Kona that helps me stay active.

We sat down to watch a movie the other night and were pleasantly surprised by the depth of the content. The story behind the song “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day” is about rising from the ashes literally. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow lost his wife in a house fire and nearly lost his son in the Civil War. Yet it was their strong faith in Christ that carried them through their bitter grief. The Hope of Christ rings out true and clear every time they hear the church bells ringing. Oh, that your hearts would find such hope in Christ.

We have enjoyed hearing from our faithful friends over the last few years around the holidays. Blessings to all of you who did not give up on us and still send cards and letters. We pray that you are able to say along with us that though seasons change when we least expect it and time marches on even after our loved ones cross the divide before us, we will still say, “It is well with my soul.”

Stacking Logs for the Yuletide

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Of visions and dreams, many of which are in the past, here are a few that I cannot forget. I hope that I am gaining some insight from these night time entertainments!

As a little child, trying to climb the ladder, only to find it leads to a diving board that is over the abyss of fire and there is no answer. This dream came before my understanding of Jesus as my Savior. I have dreams of ladders still, but mostly of steps, or staircases that seem never to end. Now I know Jesus is the bridge across the divide.

In Iowa when I was seeking purpose as my children were little and husband was suffering from depression and thyroid crash beginnings, I had many “sound” visions. The alarm, the telephone ringing, the trumpet blast, the thunderous waterfall, the wind in the wilderness, and others. Most of them were followed by specific Bible passages and the interpretation or understanding to go with these verses. I wrote many songs during that time frame and my ears were open to the words of the Holy Spirit. It is such a strong relationship memory with My Lord and I. So thankful that God carried me through my illness with ITP for 12 years with a close walk those four or five years.

Another reoccurring dream is stacking logs. I still don’t quite fully understand all the implications except for the accumulation of of things and stuff on this earth. Things and stuff are such a trap and the weight of all this stuff and really ruin a person. It’s hard, because our parents havee spent 50 plus years of gathering things and left them to be dispersed only by what stuff we have ourselves to divide all out betwixt ourselves and our children. How do I essentially leave a legacy that is not simply a pile of logs to be burned up?

This little cupboard is a washstand replica that my father-in-law made for me. I filled it with my “logs” of shawls. It’s probably time to gift a few of them!

And then one day, I thought of the visuals of yarn logs, or cakes of yarn and the walls behind some of my favorite you tube tutorial teachers…. Is crocheting my “stacking of logs” just to be burned up? I better think of a better use of my projects for proper give-away.

This month, I changed my thought process on yarn projects. Oh, how I love the warm shawls while I sit and work. But no one else seems to value the prayer shawl as I do. So it’s time for Christmas ornaments, doily displays, pillows, or afghans. What are the most common give-away items for crochet, I thought? So, I looked it up.

Hats, scarves, blankets, animal stuffies and … dishcloths. Well, dishcloth’s are out as I have an entire bag full of them. Oh yes bags! I love making bags. Scarves are quick and blankets are time consuming. Ahhh, yes, the hats! The whole set is fun, with the mittens, turtle scarf (cowl neck warmer) but what other home decor can I give away?

These two matching pillows are hot off the hook! I just finished the matching one on the right after I found my yarn stash in the tote under the bed.

And while I was making those pillows, my mind went to the lost cause… well, okay, the lost yarn. When the kids came to stay in August I spend a few days hurriedly packing away much of my clutter. That included several bags of yarn and loose end projects. But where had I stashed the yarn? I spent the next few months looking for the yarn. I tore apart three closets and put everything back. Then I cleaned under all the beds and got rid of the dust bunnies. Until finally last Saturday, I began to wonder if the one bed had four totes under it instead of just three. There at last I found my whole tote full of yarn! Now I could make the matching pillows!

so, yes, stacking logs is not my favorite past time experience anymore. Stacking crochet shawls should not be either. Perhaps gifting away many of my projects should be more in my thought process than just passing the time. The stuff can start spilling out of all the corners and all the closets, and all the totes pretty quickly!

Play ball Oma?

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How to remember all those cute little things that grand children say? Well, first off, write them down! Because suddenly two years have passed by, and I am trying to so hard to remember all their little one time cuteness. Or recall just exactly what was happening when the child’s bits of wisdom are shared like nuggets of gold that are tucked away in the heart for future reference.

The family requested that I write some stories about the grand kids. So here goes. And a little disclaimer, being rather busy in the greenhouse and garden season beginnings has kept me out of the library which is my primary writing zone. Actually, since the library thinking zone days, I got myself a naughty little Shih Tzu that will not leave some things alone in there, therefore I usually write while he sits within view. The library table faces the white board, and he gets away with “murder” of some object when my back is to him. Actually, I loaned the library table to my hubby’s computer work station and now I try writing at my little secretary next to the doggie’s station-bed, water toys, rug, etc.

I started this writing over two years ago. Oops. And the running log of things just never really made it unto the published pages. So to unfinished symphonies and books and dishes and laundry, we say, “hello!” Perhaps today is the day that both of the sinks in the kitchen will be empty.

A grunt porch bench moment with the kiddos.

After four and a half days babysitting the four grandchildren while we waited for the arrival of number five, I am being a plant. My “working woman” daughter tells me, it is my day to just be a plant. Sit in the sun and soak up some water and rest. I’ll take that bit of wisdom to heart. Every forty five minutes I change the laundry around, and take fifteen minutes to do some tidying up after the children. And then I think of less than 24 hours earlier. My “Opa” hubby was getting irritated at the constant door slamming, and I reminded him, “Well, someday the door will be quiet, they won’t slam doors anymore and we’ll wish them back to childhood.” The time flies much too quickly.

Teaching the grandchildren to use their imagination has been one of my favorite time with kiddos enjoyment. Isabelle was just learning to play downstairs by herself, when she learned how to let her imagination run away from her. She was busy playing, when all of a sudden she burst into a blood curdling scream. Her momma ran down thinking that she was hurt, and the little voice cried, “but the dinosaurs were coming to get me!” Of course the sounds were the creaking of the floorboards as momma walked upstairs. From that moment on Isabelle had such a hard time going down to the basement by herself.

It was quite the turn of a new leaf when one day at the new (second) house, she went downstairs totally on her own while I was there. She is growing up right before our very eyes. And there is the Noelle stairs story to tell.

Noelle is our little Christmas snow bird. She has had therapy to force her to development the ‘walking” muscles. While screaming her drama queen tears, she has made it through learning to crawl, walk, run and say all kinds of nearly two words. The other day, the therapist was teaching her how to go down the stairs on her feet while hanging on to the railings posts. She cried the whole time. We worked so hard to get her to sit and go down the stairs safely and not fall. For a few months that was the warning, “sit down Noelle, so you don’t fall.” And now suddenly we are telling her to stand up, hold on to the post and step down the stair-steps. I can hear the protest in her mind. She is hearing, “Stand up and I will fall down”. Not stand up, use the posts, and walk. Uff day. These learning curves are hard.

“Play Ball, Oma!” This story occured at the table of the first house, while Isaac was still in the high chair. Melody had already been born, and Isaac and I were finishing up lunch. He was already in play ball mode of boyhood, and any moment to do so was necessary. So when he spoke his little query, I responded with, “Shall we play baseball? Or football?” “Baseball!” Was the response. I told him to use his fork for the bat and I would pitch an imaginary ball to him. “You wind up and smack that ball for a home-run, okay?” So we proceeded to do so, and just as he hit the imaginary ball clear over the back field fence, his plate nearly went off the tray. Well, okay maybe it did hit the floor, I don’t remember now, but then the wisdom moment arrived. And I said, ‘oh, no! Isaac, see that’s why we should not play ball at the table.” His eyes were big, and there was no scolding or laughter. But we both learned to use our imaginations better!

Tromping through the yard and yelling “cocoa!”s. Learning about inside and outside voices. The little ones that remember Cocoa the horse, had to learn that the horse could not hear them in the house. (Well, actually, he could hear and he use to be down at the end of the Walnut tree line, staring at the house wondering when we were going to come out with an apple.). But it was a good lesson to learn how to holler outside. Cocoa always came running when their little voices called. Even if they were on face time, Cocoa would come to snicker at them!

It was pretty sad when Melody, who was just walking followed the troupe outdoors calling for our favorite equine, Cocoa had passed away just a few months prior, and Isaac so matter of factly stated, “Cocoa died Melody!” I was carrying baby Noelle, I think and had to call for Isabelle to come hold Melody’s hand because she was now sad and crying. Lessons in death, all a year or so before the Great grandparent traveled on to eternity.

One day in June the summer after Noelle was born, Noelle told me she likes rainbows She had a little children’s book that she was looking at, and it is Noah and the ark Then Melody and I read through the children’s Bible storybook Afterwards Noelle wanted to turn pages so she turned the pages until it got to Noah’s Ark Then she put her hands flat on the page and looked at the rainbow , then to me. Oh, I said, that’s the same story in your little book. She began baby talk and would not let me turn the pages one way or the other. I thought about Jesus saying “out of the mouths of infants and children the Lord has ordained praise.” Indeed,

One last short story. Just the other day I had baby Joseph on my lap and he was holding my thumbs while Isaac sat on the floor in front of us. We had our first imagination play session. I asked Isaac if perhaps maybe, Joseph would want to drive the tractor with Opa. “Yeah,” he replied. So we did. We began driving all of the things on the farm, making all of the motor noises. Then we advanced to motorcycles,, and finally to the speed rocket motorcycles. Of, course, I was not being as wild as when the child gets older. But as we got to the fast moving high pitched motor sound, Isaac said, “Joseph is happy now!” “Oh, no!” I declared, “we have created a speedster child!”

Then, I asked Isaac if he remembered riding monocycle and monster truck on Oma’s lap. He said he did very matter of factly. That seemed so awesome to me. To have such early memories. But he also remembers rolling across the floor and getting his head stuck under the sofa, and I had to rescue him. All first year memories. I stated, “Wow, that’s great, Oma used to help Melody ride horses. She liked horses best.” And she still does. When they came for an overnight stay, she had all of them out, only to discover that one has a saddle, but no Barbie doll to ride on it. Well, we will have to fix that I suppose.

Wearing Love

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2025 will be a year that we can never forget. Simply for the fact that saying goodbye to three parents in one year has a way of changing life that can only be marked by before and after. During the watching of a life slipping through the fingers, the glimpse of eternity is so close, one almost feels like breathing ethereal air can be grasped. Yet the soul is wrenched back into everyday life with pain and the temporal existence of eating and sleeping and keeping one’s own strength up with water, and coffee and sometimes those goodies that people deliver during the days after.

This year has also been marked by five little beings coming into the world. From a grandson, to a niece and two great nephews and one great niece, life has shown up to be precious and wonderfully made in these little bodies. How could we ever think that God has not truly blessed us during this year of life passing on with life coming anew? It amazes me how God mysteriously gives us more love when we feel the intense loss of loved ones.

Study of Colossians 3:12. A little while ago we had a guest speaker at church. His sermon was based on a text from Colossians that I have not studied for some time. Colossians chapter three gives a very odd list of clothing items for the “elect of God.” Here is the passage: “Therefore as the elect of God, holy and beloved, put on tender mercies, kindness, humility, meekness, long suffering: bearing with one another and forgiving one another, if anyone has a complaint against another; even as Christ forgave you, so you also must do.” It goes on to say above all these spiritual garments of behavior, we are to Put On Love.”

Two scarves and a prayer shawl with “Freyja” hearts pattern -a mosaic crochet Chet.

The Psalms often talks about putting on a garment of praise in our moment of affliction. I get the psychological and spiritual reference for this as it helps us to change our attitude. And yes some of the afore mentioned thought processes do the very same. So I wanted to look at the list in a whole different mindset. When has someone else clothed me in my spiritual naked oblivion with these gifts of love and let me be my miserable sinful person until I understood that God looks at me as holy and beloved?

Tender mercy? The story that I can think of most directly is through learning my giftedness in piano. There was a time in my life some twenty years ago that I was moving from reading the music to playing by ear. This has been a long twenty year learning curve. Today there is not a song or hymn style of praise and worship that I cannot play in just a matter of minutes. I can even learn songs from contemporary or standard rock and roll in just a matter minutes. Twenty years ago if someone asked me to play for instance “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” I would have said -no way! Now I can play that and a whole host of other tunes. Simply by recalling the music in my mind. However, when I tried to play for my daughter’s senior high school recital, I bombed the event with my inability to read the music. I got utterly lost on stage and totally ruined the event, in my mind anyway. There after the whole crowd of people had to give me mercy along with my daughter as we greeted all the guest and enjoyed the refreshments. What a humbling experience.

Another shawl on the hook.

When was I shown Kindness and probably did not deserve it? Was I ever feeling a bit mean spirited and someone chose kindness instead of repaying my actions with evil? This goodness was given to me …

Humility comes my way often, as I think of my failing eyesight. One day I did not realize the drummer for praise band was still the same person and called him by another name of a substitute drummer. Oh, dear. These eyes fail me so frequently.

How about that meekness gift? Most people do not even know what meekness is these days. So when did someone have the power over me to do me injury and choose to treat me tenderly and gentle? I have to say that the person I think of first at all times in the meekness clothing is my husband. He has always been tender and gently with me even when I am difficult. His love for me has always been with restrained care. There is no one that I know who is so cautious in his treatment of so many people.

Long suffering and patients was given to me just this week at my daughter’s house. My eyes were closing in and I did not help with the “tidy up” chore in the basement. It just seems easier to sit still and not get in the way while so many bodies are moving. Yet she did not feel it wrong to say, there is laundry that needs to be folded. Yes, I can do that. It is a stand still kind of thing. As long as no one comes along and moves my piles, I might be okay with folding laundry.

Bearing burdens with one another? Well, I often recall my pleurisy illness when it seemed like no one was bearing my burden with me. So now how can I recall an event in my life when others helped bear my burden? I had spleen surgery, and my mother took the girls for the weekend because my father-in-law had chemo and planting season. Indeed bearing the burden was shared. Even though I was pretty frustrated later in the month when I had to power through to clean the house before church ladies came for coffee. They did not bring a treat, I had to do that also. It was so inconvenient. Uff da, how “old school” church visits are different than my daughter’s babies coming and her church family bringing meals.

Was I ever clothed with Forgiveness by someone. Probably more times than I can tell. This is part of life so many more times than we know. So recently my daughter finally shared a “hurt” that I spoke to her years ago. While her dad and I may have believed this particular truth, saying it out loud had been a very painful thing to do. Oh, how often we need to keep our thoughts to ourselves and let God be the disciplinarian in our adult children’s lives. I did learn that, but unfortunately my poor girl had to go through a lot of counseling to let go of that painful statement. Forgiveness goes both ways. But mostly forgiving others is for our own soul’s health.

Put on love in the most difficult of moments. This is when we really want to lash out, do we put on love? When did someone cloth me with love rather than strike back out of pain? Here I think of my mother going through all of her health crisis moments the year of my birth. From the nearly dying at my birth to tonsil surgery, appendectomy and other illness, she still had to take care of me and love me while I was a tender child in need of so much around the clock care. More of us should really think about how hard it is for parents those first few months with an infant child. That is putting on love for sure!