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

About My IF

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When I was a very, very little girl – and that is a true understatement – I had a stuffed pink puppy. In my mind the puppy was bigger than I was. My mother says I weighed only fifteen pounds at two years old. That is the same size as my little black dog now.

I have memories of riding this little pink stuffy like it was a horse. It solidified my love for dogs over that of horses at an early age. Though I thought I still liked horses, because my dad trained them, that like was turned to “dislike” until I was a teenager. The love for dogs stuck a little more, even though I cannot recall that the pink fluff ever had a name.

Imaginary Friends are for little kids who have no one to play with them. So I used my stuffy’s, dolls, and other such toys to entertain me until my baby brother came along at six years old. Then in another year or so I developed the management tools that I would need for the rest of my life while bossing him around.

I don’t remember of the little pink fluff had a name. The color was much like Cotton Candy. And though I did not know about such when I received the doggy, later years, I always gravitated to the fair cart for some of the pink fluff. Having it melt in my mouth could transport me to worlds of imagination. So perhaps the puppy’s name was Candy.

About my IF, that is Imaginary Friend from years past. Mine was a magic carpet puppy that I rode like a horse. My little legs hugged the dog and my fingers gripped his ears, and I ran and slid across the floor countless times. In my mind we flew around the room hiding under the table and landing on the sofa. It must have been my constant companion because looking at it in my adult years I noticed the faux fur was completely worn off the fabric.

Another strong memory from those wee bitty years, is of someone asking me if I wanted a piece of candy. I would nod my head vigorously only to be asked once again, if I was “sure.” My poor little brain did not know what the word “sure” meant. I remember doing a circle with my head from no to yes, not knowing what the correct answer was. I hated the question “Are you sure?” I was not sure, I was “Yvonne.” Did my Imaginary Friend have a name? Could it really be imaginary if the puppy was a stuffy that I rode around like a magic carpet?

This past summer when we cleaned out the old house, I found it in the “keepsakes” box. I took a picture of the pink rock and then threw it away. The stuffing in the doggie had turned into a solid mass of something. Not sure why, but the foam innards had hardened into a solid beast. The little puppy did not look near as comely as he had while I rode him across the hard floor of the kitchen as a toddler.

Through the years that followed my toddling days, I turned from this carpet puppy to horses during my play time. But it was not long until I felt the thump of the heart and warmth of live fur baby more comforting. I had a cat in middle school and high school named Mittens. Mittens was grey with white socks on the fore paws. He was such a quiet cat indoors that I snuck him up to my bedroom a lot. The comforting feline pur was so addictive. It was so sad when he had an accident and had to be put down. I cried a lot. Thank goodness he had to go shortly after one of my paper route friends lost her husband. The value of “soul” was not lost on me. I knew someday, maybe, I could have another cat. She would never get another husband.

Today, nearly two score of years later, I still prefer a puppy over a horse. Even though a week ago, my grandson asked if “we could get another horse.” What is this “we” thing, I thought. I already took care of Cocoa for years while taking Benadryl just to be around him. And I know that a cat would make my hubby do the same thing. He is so allergic to the “dusties” that a cat produces with it’s constant shed. That is one of the reasons we now have a Shih Tzu in the house instead of a constant shed dog.

We watched the movie IF (2024) in the fall of 2025. Yeah, we’re cheap and usually wait until the movie is released from theatre and can be seen at home. Once in a great while, we do make it to the show house, but this one escaped our knowing. I really enjoyed the whole concept of the film and thought about my pink Cotton Candy puppy right away. Who wouldn’t remember riding through the house on a pink fluff?

I don’t need an Imaginary Friend when I have a real fur ball. But I do still love the addicting sound of a good motor. I do have six cats outdoors yet. Tabitha and Kramer are probably my favorite right now. Though Kramer won’t sit still very well. Zuchi has followed me around the most, like to the greenhouse and stuff. But Kona does tricks! And though I can’t ride him around like a magic carpet, his greetings and energy are fun and contagious. He does make me laugh with his funny jump-fly over the steps into the living room after a fetch session.

Kona on the daybed after a fetch session.

While I began this writing back in October, today seemed a good day to complete it. I was suppose to visit my little people (grandchildren) but my daughter now has the tummy bug the two youngest shared with her. This winter has been full of immune building experience for them. My last visit to their house was punctuated by a little girl finding the scissors to see what was inside her favorite stuffy. Mommy was pretty upset for having to do surgical repairs once again. Some children are so attracted to the hand held cutters. My mind immediately returned to all of the toys that we repaired for our fur ball Furbie. He wanted to get to the heart “squeaky” and we let him. Then we saved the rabbits, squirrels, skunks, and socks for further demolition. It’s hard to imagine what this little girl might do someday and what this “knowledge” will help her learn.

Meanwhile, my mom took a tumble and aafter a brief hospital stay is now in rehab, riding a bike and learning to use her new “walker” friend. No imagination needed here. Just some hope to get better soon. And not the kind my husband mentioned. One of his coworkers needed a “get better soon” card not because he was ill, but because failure had marked every attempt to teach the kid something new. Some people have no imagination.

The Local Giants

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Jeremiah 17:7-8 “Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, and whose hope is in the Lord…(my paraphrase) He shall be like a giant tree whose roots run deep to never lack water, and who is never anxious about weather and always produces good fruit.”

Oldest tree I’ve ever known, and next oldest Tributes to the homestead

The two oldest trees on the acreage have been much of my visual focus this winter. The brown barren landscape and the many wind and fire watch weather warnings, makes me wonder how many branches are even left. The oldest tree at over 160 years (planted 1860’s) has such a gnarly look that the squirrels don’t even use it anymore. The second oldest planted approximately 1880’s has a few smaller branches yet and does look to have more recent growth. The most difficult issue with tree second, is that the roots have set out above surface and are in desperate need of topsoil to keep from nicking the mower blades. That’s a definite plan for the lawn care list. These local giants are not ginormous Ents, but they sure are a testament to time and remind me of God’s provision for those who trust in the Lord.

March arrived with some more pendulum temperature swings. One day it’s nearly nice enough to wear only a sweatshirt. The next day we are bundling up in all the winter gear and wearing a scarf to keep the cold from snatching the breath out of our nostrils! So I decided that crochet challenges were again in the works. Marching across the yarn miles with my crochet hook always helps me face the cold days better.

Crochet borders is my current indoor past time. I finished one border on the daybed blanket. And then decided to finish out the “year” memorial with a border that matched some of the flower pattern. Of course after i was done then I thought of another idea for graduating more color use. Oh, well.

First photo from the visit to grandkids, someone thinks it funny to lay “clementine” an orange multi-s1ueaks toy over Kona’s back. The second picture is Kona napping on top of the recently completed lap-ghan (lap afghan) memoir to the year.

Puppy tales untold, Kona’s journal has not had an update for a while. Here’s what he does. I have trained him to find any item that hits the floor. This is important for me as often things roll away from my peripheral and he does a great job. Of course we won’t mention all of the facial tissues he constantly has to give up for finding when I’d prefer he left them alone. Kona also is my alert eyes, when we go places he will point out new entrances into my space and help me know someone os near. Kona also does a pretty good job with occasional guide at stairs and curbs. He has been trained to pause before any change in terrain. If only I would “listen” to the leash changes better. One time he told me there was a parking cement curb, but I missed it. I did not fall just stumble hop. On the way back the exaggerated jump over the cub and his looking back at me said, “watch the curb- you dummy!” I find humor in some of his tell tale ways of “showing” me what is going on. We recently had to take him to church a few times, due to the grandkid mess of items on the floor (quick retrieval for an overnight stay) that did not give us enough time to “puppy proof” the house for him to stay alone. He has done great any time he goes into a social setting. He is so quiet and does his under chair hide that most people don’t even know my alert dog is with me.

The most hilarious happenings are how the grandkids all and have a face-time call he would always begin with “see Cocoa?” Too which I either walked out to see the horse, or had to answer, “Oma is in the house, and Cocoa does not live in the house.” Isaac would repeat “See Cocoa?” Now baby Joseph is about six months old, and already hollers at me with a face-time voice if I am talking to another. Then as soon as he sees me he begins puppy panting so that he can “see Kona.” My little niece Marigold does the same thing. They are concerned for my puppy more than me. Haha.

What do the local Ents have to do with any of this? Except for Charlie barking non-stop up the tree this morning, we don’t think of the two old branch managers often. I mean really, they just stand there looking quite stark naked in their winter chill. Yet, I wonder at all the things that have happened here for the last 150 years. Those old trees have witnessed so much. If only they could talk. What stories would they tell? My dog can’t talk yet he does try to tell me some things, like the lid that fell is still up on the counter somewhere. And little ones that don’t talk yet do try to tell us what they want or need by their cries and or by their giggles. Their are witnesses and evidences of so much if only we have eyes to see or ears to listen.

My new book is the Molly Burke memoir “Unseen.” Now sure I really want to read something that is so close to home. I also have RP and have been legally blind for a number of years. I am glad for tools that help visually impaired persons. Everyone has to have their own “helps.” For some it’s glasses. For some it’s white cane and a dog. For some of us it’s an alert puppy and the ability to Zoom every text out there. For others its people and the most accurate APP available. Don’t get me started on apps and updates!

The Local Ents aren’t telling me any stories yet. I’ll let you know if the trees begin talking. For now they remain silent witness to any changes or weather or happenings here on the homestead.

Winter games project

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Watching television and doing nothing with my hands is foreign to me. Most of my silent time is spent using my hands. I just have a fidget need. Who sits still and does nothing?

Winter Olympics are fun to watch. whether we find motivation to get more fit, enjoy more outdoor activities, or simply do something we love to do. For me it is the later. So I found a project to crochet while “watching” the olympics. Haha.

The best stories are the trials to overcome. Hearing about the single mom that has two deaf little boys and still won a gold medal in some event reminds me that everyone has a story to tell. Overcoming adversity is what makes us unique yet relatable.

After I found a video a couple weeks ago about the ”whole” person discovering our individual purpose, reflecting on our one little wave in the whole ocean of humanity seemed daunting. So I grabbed my yarn and put together a color scheme to crochet something.

Crochet color schemes based on paint color room decorating is my new thought process. I picked two colors looked up a color palette and matched the yarn to them. Wow! I’m so happy with the outcome. It gives me a new lease on crochet projects. Of course, still not sure what to do with this collection of items made.

Two weeks time is all that it took to finish the latest shawl. Some would probably say, “it’s not big enough to wrap up in” so why bother? Sometimes it’s more about the look of the finished item. Of course the feeling of mosaic crochet items is warmth and comfort, also! But I really did not expect to be done in just two weeks.

2026 Winter Olympics crochet shawl approximately 2 foot by 5 foot

What’s next? That’s always the problem. Just like the Olympian who completes their goal, what is the next goal. Ecclesiastes tells us the joy of doing is a good goal in itself. Enjoying the fruits of our labor, like this moment of just sitting under the really pretty wrap while catching up on the happennings for my online journal.

The past two weeks were a bit of a blur really. My daughter’s kidney stone reared it’s ugly head and we had the kids for a full week. Thank goodness their daddy could take care of the baby for most of the week of her recovery period. Nonetheless, the month still seems to be a blur of activity. The first two weeks were so nice outside, and then the last two weeks bitter cold. Winter games on the television did add an element of distraction to the difficulties of the month.

Empty baskets are meant to be filled. My sister dealing with blindness and trying to fill the time gives me more to be thankful for my own ability to do something with my hands. Even when my eyesight was not cooperating with me for church piano playing this past Sunday, I was thankful that my ability has risen to the challenge. God enables in a way that seems unbelievable.

The barren winter landscape in our area does not have to be the focus of dull drum winter. Other parts of the country are under blankets of snow, and I sit under a crochet wrap that is both distractingly pretty and not so heavy it requires hours of shoveling to get out from under the piles of snow… I am glad for my crochet time “killer.” I am glad that I can listen to books while I do so.

The book that distracted me from the brown dead grassy yard this past week was an “Ellie Haskins Mystery.” I was thinking about “Wuthering Heights” and my hubby got me “Withering Heights.” The first is an old classic literature work and the later is a recent mystery novel. Oh, well. I did not mind it so much. wondering what happens next is a little better that than trying to figure out what color palette will fill my basket next!

The Crazy Crochet Cat Lady pattern above is from the Wild Things collection. I really wanted to do a better version than I completed last year with it’s scraps and pieces. I used a smaller hook this time and the completed item is about six inches smaller in both length and width. I imagine that there will be a border on it soon.

Being physically challenged by my eyesight can sometimes be limiting. Like crocheting colors that are hard to tell the difference between, so I’m learning to mix up the bolds a bit more. I am so glad to have the challenges to overcome. And glad that crocheting in a row is something okay for my vision, accomplishing something pretty in the the end result. So on to the next project….

A lowly friend

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“There’s not a friend like the lowly Jesus, no not one, no not one… “. The classic hymn by Johnson Oatman Jr. has been running through my mind for nearly a month now. There are days when grief stricken and sad the tears come unbidden and beg though I try, they will not return from whence they came. There is only one thing left to do. Have a good cry and tell Jesus. He’s the only one who can truly understand my lowly state.

This morning my overnight vigil of sleeplessness hit me rather hard. I had not spent the night crying for “Our Father’s will” to be done. I had really just wanted to sleep. Every hour as my book ended it’s timed reading, my hand would reach for the smart book, and poke the 60 minute timer once again. This happened so many times that by seven a.m. when I hit the “timer” again, it really felt like 3 a.m. and I marveled that the light from the day was now invading my sleepless night.

“No One else could heal all our destress, no not one, no not one.” The morning did not begin so wonderfully. While the AI weather report boasted of a warm sunny day in the first week of February, my spirit was brooding over the lack of sleep, and the tears that were on my pillow all night, continued to spill forth. Really, why was I so crestfallen and despondent over just one night of lost sleep?

All my life I have set separated somehow. Either in a room or class of my own I’m not sure but togetherness has been a hard concept to grasp. Some call it sanctified to be set apart. First as a little tike, it was my size, my deafness, then my eyesight, then in a community where I was an outsider because I had entered the grade school later thatn the other. My “different” -ness kept me just outside the circle or comradeship. It just seemed to continue on all of my life. Through my school years I was the only one that whent home for lunch. Always looked at as a “goody two shoes” my mother even chose to take us outside of the town for church, setting us apart once again.

I finally felt like I belonged in college during the Inter-Varsity Bible study days. And when we were first married, I belonged to the family through my proximity to my husband. But then through the years, we chose a different way of bringing our kids through school. Home Schooling our girls all the way through high school, set us apart once again to be different. And thereby the lack of “friendships” occurred.

I never felt so alone while my girls were with me. I worked hard to think of the years as “preparation” for their futures. And I never felt so very poured out and empty as the year my baby-second daughter went off to college. There seemed to be nothing to keep me afloat anymore.

How could this new set apart feeling be “sanctified?” I wondered at times how I could make it into the next day let alone year or decade. Then I lost my drivers license because my peripheral vision had reached the point of legally blind. The pain that I felt in my aloneness and empty days was only filled once again, by hours of book reading and escape room lifestyle.

“Jesus knows all about our struggles…” In the days after empty nest syndrome, the realization that Jesus was the only one who really knew my day to day struggle became apparent. I tried to call my mother-in-law only to be laughed to scorn with her daily reports of who stopped in for coffee or where whe was at now. Some days it just hurt so bad to hear the report, I did not call. So I began calling my father more. He seemed to get me better.

So this morning when I finished my coffee and the tears were still rolling down my cheeks, I just wanted to talk to my dad. But I cannot. Because he died eight months ago. Four months after my mom-in-law, who died four months after my dad-in-law.

Even one Sunday morning when I found myself sitting alone at church, It occured to me how much of an “outsider” that I felt. The morning fellowship hour, or gossip hour feels so exclusive. Though our beliefs are community and togetherness the gossip hour can be so un-sanctimonious..

Where have I gone wrong? Have I gone wrong? Am I just meant to be seperated out from the mainstay? Am I registering a feeling that is not there? Am I taking too much stock in the “gossip” of others about others and not participating due to lack of knowledge? Or am I destined to be set apart as I have been all of my life because of uncontrollable circumstances…

“There is not an hour that He is not near us, no not one, no not one.” While I look at the past through my sleep deprived filter and consider being set apart due to my deafness, my blindness, my constant thrust into unknown community, my choices in life that poured me out into void and loneliness….. I am glad Jesus has been more constant that the weekly phone calls to my dad. Jesus has been more near that my mother-in-law’s daily visitor report. Jesus has been closer to me that the timed out book reader in the wee hours of quiet loneliness.

Being set aside for a purpose is the definition of sanctified. The Lord chooses whom He may to scrub down, clean up, refine, and move from ignoble to noble duties. Lord, prepare me to be a sanctuary, pure and holy, tried and true.

Yesterday afternoon one of those God moments happened to me. I had such a rough day, with my lack of sleep and tearful remembrances that I thought I should probably have tea in the afternoon. So I dug through the tea box and found one that seemed good for the soul. “Ginger Turmeric Honey” just sounding soothing. I made the tea, sat down with my snack near to hand, took a sip of the now cooled brew, and the floodgates were opened. There before me, was my father, tapping his annoying cane between his legs and telling one of his much repeated tales. The tears just would not stop. I ended up calling my husband at work to help me get through the grief stricken memory. The last time I had that particular tea was at his house and Wally’s wife had bought him some, for herself to drink while there. Oh, but the tears would not stop.

It’s crazy how certain things just take you back to a particular memory. Certain foods, teas, drinks, sounds of Wheel of Fortune wheel ticking, or whatever it is just surprise the mind into memory. And there you are, right back in the moment as if the past five years have never happened. Reality hits you smack in the heart and the spirit bursts forth like a waterfall.

I always liked waterfalls. Until it is tears and emotional remembrances. Yet I am so thankful that I have the memories. There are precious pearls that are not to be traded for the world.

My deafness as a child encouraged my parents to introduce me to music. And though the deafness set me apart within my school mates, (any time someone whispers in public I think it’s rude) it sanctified me in my ability to sit at the piano and focus on my lessons. And though I often feel separated from the fellowship of others, I feel sanctified when I sit at the piano and lead the congregation in praise and worship.

I am learning to look at this feeling of separation from the status quo as being “sanctified” rather than feeling “left out” all of the time. Feelings are not facts in spite of what these young people nowadays might think. Feelings are fickle useless things that often lie. And it is often the enemy of our spirits within to use feelings to trip us up and keep us stagnated self centered and judgmental of others. Somehow, we have to move from the lie of separation to the reality of togetherness.

One day while thinking upon all of this alone set apartness, I came across a video online about connectiveness. The phycological and spiritual explanation was that truth and reality is that we are all part of the “whole” not a singular drop can make up the ocean. One drop of salt water when in the ocean is part of the whole ocean. We as people individually make up the whole of human existence. It’s so hard to explain without the visuals. But with the fact that our community has lost three young lives due to “feeling alone” (suicide) made me rethink this feeling and reality truth.

“For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.” John 3:16

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!