Tag: childhoood memories

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.

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.

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.

In The Dinette

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Some people live for food. No really, they think about the next meal before they are even done with the one they are eating. Meals, food and delicatessens are what drives them from hour to hour. My dad used to say of a particular relative, “They travel on the stomachs: Visiting all kinds of national monuments and beautiful places it is some simple pizza joint that they remember most and talk about with excitement.

Some people eat just to stay alive. I am in that category. I could work for hours in the greenhouse and totally forget meals and such. I could crochet for hours if I did not drink so much that I am driven to the bathroom. I don’t enjoy watching telvesion shows or videos about cooking. On the other hand it was my three year old daughter that grumbled about me rushing her meal and said, “Can’t I savor my food?”

Mealtime for me has always been about the conversation and togetherness. Even as a child I was always the last one at the table. I told everyone with such a captive audience, I thought every dinner was a theatre. Mealtime was entertainment 101 for me. What jokes and witty comments would incite laughter and or anger? I learned that my siblings had buttons that could be pushed and I learned what would and would not be tolerated by my parents.

What was it like to have a formal dining room and an appendix dinette? The kitchen was my mother’s domain. My dad was only in their on rare occasions. The dinette was the daily use eating zone. Nothing like the kitchens of today that have “homework” stations for the kids while mom or dad cooks the meal. And the formal dining room was used only for company. This was where I sat and did homework once in awhile, otherwise homework was done in my own space of my bedroom with it’s little desk and chair.

I often think of the kitchen and dinette as after thoughts in old houses. Of course back in the day of wood cook stoves, the heat made it important to keep the heat out of the rest of the house during summer. We had moved from a house with an addition of a large kitchen where the table was part of the room. The change was a poor one for our family. I think the “appendix” in the new house made it part of the reason my parents marriage collapsed.

Of course, it does not help that I had left for college and the communication between my mom and dad was already pretty bad. Then after my spring illness of appendicitis, that’s when things got really bad. I returned home to see that my mom was barely keeping up with this abandonment. And my dad was unwilling to make any changes.

My appendix had been surgically removed. The room that we had grown up eating it was now just a vague dry hopeless place where my mother and the three children left no longer ate with my dad. His silence on weekends, mealtimes and presence in the home was only occasionally interupted by bouts of angry outbursts. I tried to stand up for the others. But it was too late for intervention. The surgical procedure of the “heart” of the home had already been done by his constant belittling and badgering. Like a battering ram on the love that my mother was trying to give, the destruction was complete.

Friends were few and far between. What else was there to do? I felt my mother needed an ultimatum. Now that thirty some years have passed since the divorce of my parents. It’s clear that my mother was the glue and the love that drew us all together. My father’s eightieth birthday managed to gather some of us around him for a party. But his continued unbelief and faithless thought process towards our mother have pushed most of us away.

My dad’s 85th birthday was spent in unremarkable normalcy. On the other hand I watch the happenings of my in-laws through the years and the family grows and also finds itself distanced by all the extended happenings. Yet when dad needed a pep rally in the nursing home to keep him out of the “failure to thrive” annals, we all came together to make an attempt at cheerfulness.

All these things are going on simultaneously. Life falls apart, life moves on and little lives are being brought forth into the new world. Lives struggle with health. Lives learn new things. Lives march into the next unknown. And we still get disappointed when our expectations are not met by others. We still disappoint ourselves when we react inappropriately. We still are unable to change another person’s will. Whether we love and live in hopefulness does matter, doesn’t it?

This past weekend the roller coaster of emotions brought me back to the song above that I found a week or two ago. The old version is rather unknown. And this composition also is not highly memorable. Yet all of life’s emotions, feelings, wishes, wants and needs are nothing apart from being “In Jesus.”

I finished my book from Mother Theresa, but the wisdom it contained will continue to speak Jesus into my life and others. I had the chance to speak to my father in law in a moment of lucidity one evening. I told him about the book I was reading and how “thinking about the pain and suffering of Jesus when we have pain and suffering” can help us in our pain. It is because Jesus suffered for us, that we can endure. I don’t know how much of it helped. He told me he was “not worried about tomorrow.” So maybe it did help some.

All of us need the blessed assurance that if we confess Jesus over our pain, over our trials, over our emotions, over our family then God will intervene in the way that He chooses. We have to be okay with that.

So life continues on and IN JESUS I will try not to take things into my own hands. Only God knows what the appendix’s purpose really is. We have lost past family members in the early 1900’s from an appendix rupture. My brother in law has suffered from years from the effects of the the rupture toxicity. My appendix was removed and left me with ITP for over a decade and then another surgery, splenectomy.

There are organs in the body that can be lived without. And some that once damaged will lead to death. When a family looses it’s dinette of bustling conversations and playful bantering over the mealtime… well, I see over the years the family just drifts away from each other and soon learns to live without the spleen, without the appendix, without the arm that once fed it and kept it so vital. New families emerge and must learn not to make the same mistakes.

Living a life IN JESUS is more important now than ever before.

Insight through Eyesight loss

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Insight rather than outsight is my lot in life. I am one of the lucky ones who has learned to walk into a room blinded by the backdrop of a bright window and wonder what in the world I might run into first. While others love social engagements and “parties” of all sorts, I’d rather be a wall flower. And most times that is how I feel. So I do not heed the “come in, come in” when my body is riddled with the bullets of anxiety and I want to back up. Making sure that I do not run into anything or upset the apple cart is my first priority. It’s hard not to say, “Don’t push me over a cliff, go first and I’ll follow.”

The other morning I let my anger get the best of me. One of the most difficult things about tunnel vision is missing out of seeing something. Often it is the obvious street pole on the edge of the sidewalk. But sometimes it is less obvious, like the water glass on the edge or even middle of the counter. With the narrowing of the viewing hole, many things just go into oblivion. Thus, when the dog decided to haul if with my latest new crochet work, the string follows it. I found the work, but the hook was “no where” for me to be seen. My anger was just boiling.

I had played with Kona. I had cleaned house and found toys and threw balls for him to fetch. I had taken care of all of his needs. It was time to move some laundry. My return to the living room found the work across the living room floor. But no hook could be found. I have even changed the hooks that I am using to the original boye metal hooks that my Grandma gave me. No foam or plastic nylabone for the dog chew option.

How can the past stick like glue so well? Everyone else is loving the fall decor. Bringing out all of the leafage and pumpkins. There was a little saying when I was a kid. “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” that is so not true. Words ring in your ears for decades. When I was fourteen and diagnosed with RP, the doctor wanted to protect my eyes, by putting me in orange colored lenses. He felt that keeping the UV rays out of my eyes was so important. I had never worn sunglasses. People just did not do that back then. Halloween eyes, pumpkin face and other such bully talk became the normal poke fun and Yvonne. I do not remember anyone ever asking me about why I was wearing the orange lens now.

Sticks and stones, right.

Both of these projects survived Kona stealing the hook and dragging the partial out into the living room floor. On the left the ombre and yellow shawl. On the right the brown wool remake from a project my mother returned to me when she moved out of her house.

I learned that hurling words was just as harsh as hurling stones. The rock that found my eyebrow when I was a toddler left a visible scare. The words that my school mates used stuck like sticks in the eye that would never be removed. Words do hurt.

There are people who push you over the edge into the black abiss. I remember in my early years of marriage how my husbands family liked to go up to a local steak house to eat. The building had two doors to enter through before getting into the dining hall. It never failed that others would try to hold the door and try to push me into the dark room. I can still “feel” the panic rise up in me when I think of this. I learned that some people do not know how to lead. It is just not in them. While serving can be a natural tendency for them, leading does not come naturally. Some are often better at pushing than leading. I leaned that you can never “push” a blind person.

So there are genetic tendencies in all families. Genetic blessings and curses. There is the genes for diabetes, the genes for cancer, the genes for arthritis, the genes for blindness. And we could go further into the genes for higher cholesterol and strokes or dementia. When we looka t our relatives we can pretty much see ourselves in the mirror on the wall. The future is right in front of us, so to speak.

This past week at my little kiddos table, their sweet moma began the Bible lesson for the morning with a big word. “Immutability” she explained is the character of God and His never changing personhood.. God does not change. He is always the same. The little two year old dropped her head in her hands and said “I don’t like that big word. It’s scary!” Of course my thoughts went to the smiling Heavenly Father trying to help this little mind grasp such a large concept. I considered my ability to maintain emotional calm in my own life as the table moment suddenly turned chaotic.

God never changes. He is always love. I heard a sermon the other day about the fact that God is not anger. He may respond in anger, but it is always His Holy response to sin. God is not the emotional uncontrolled feeling. He is just, loving, merciful and compassionate. His is not wrath. We look at love as an emotional reaction to a moment or a way of being treated. Love is a choice, and action, a decision one must make when an otherwise inappropriate response could be made. God is love even when he responds to evil and sin, and that is what paves the way for forgiveness.

Charlie is finally “coming” to me after a year or so of independent guard dog work. He highness loves cookies. Kona is still a W.i.p. = work in progress.

After five days of stay-cation I’m finally wrapping up this thought process. There is probably a lot more that could be said. But for now it fascinates me how people slowly rot. There is a lot of Bible verses about that. Understanding our worlds’s laws of composting material is happening right within out very being is not pleasant. I don’t want to think about the day when I can no longer see anything at all. But having the insight to realize we look at our own future when we look at our aging parents is important for how we choose to take care of ourselves at those we love.

When life is constantly changing and shifting beneath my feet I am glad to know that God never changes. James 1:17 is the the Bible verse for this weeks’s focus writing. “Every good and perfect gift is from above, down from the Father of lights, with whom these is no change like shifting shadows.” I’m not sure which version my daughter is using to teach her children that verse, but I do like the shifting shadows part. The sun that casts a shadow and makes us feel long or short by the gravity of the day, the sun does not seem to change. The shadow does though. And God does not change. He still loves us the same whether gravity has little affect on our body or much like in old age.

It’s OK to ask for help 

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Why is it so hard to let others do what we cannot

This morning as I write, I am praying for one of my siblings. Her work in the finance world was directly affected by the software glitch that hit the world by cyber storm on Friday. I don’t know why my thoughts did not even consider her in the news that day. Because she has the same visual disparity that I do, this is making her job a very messy situation. Not only did her computer break down, but the age of her equipment was also found faulty. So here she sits unable to do her job, and required to go into the “work” site for the first time in years. Driving is also a no-go-thing for her. Coordinating rides and navigating corporate relationships are now tricky.

Meanwhile my brother is on some jury duty thing that is putting his job on the back burner. And having the same visual genetics, he now has to drive to a location and be in a foreign environment for an undisclosed time frame. I sit at home thankful that the only thing I tripped over today was the boxed that I put in the hallway.

The devotional book from my mother gave me Fanny Crosby “Close to Thee.” And when all friends have fallen away we know that Jesus is never going to desert us. While the work world gets more and more technically bent and sometimes less friendly, my little world sometimes feels so small. My husband also dealing with software that does not “fit” the need wonders why we can’t just go back to paper trails.

Isolation in life happens through many different avenues. Sometimes it is because of health circumstances and other times it’s simply the requirements of a field of work. Finding those who are in the similar situation can be difficult. Yet even in our disparity there is always someone who has it worse off than we do.

This weekend we tried to keep life a little more low key. My asthma is starting to fight my desire to be active. I had to get out the nebulizer and find some medicated oxygen to start my day. Finally after the humidity left in the afternoon I am able to motivate and do a little landscaping and plant care.

Entrelac stitch sampler on the left. Gaillardia blanket flower on the right that I have been saving some seeds from the butterfly garden.

So in the morning I listen to my book and crochet. My latest new stitch is the entrelac crochet stitch. It is a type of Tunisian stitch that is somewhat a “quilting” feature. The next time I do it I plan to use a larger hook size and hopefully get a softer fabric. This one is a little stiff because of the 4.5 mm hook.

I found this lovely native flower at one of the greenhouse stops this spring. The Gaillardia reseeds itself and is so pretty. I took some seed heads off a week ago to dry down in a bag. I plan to try seeding some into the greenhouse this fall.

Our little grand kids looked the perfect biker gang the other day. I just could not resist sharing this picture. It started Opa and I dreaming about a BMX trail here on the property. I have always wanted a walking trail all around the acreage anyway. So the vision continues. The day before the littlest one finally got to wear this little onesie that I bought over thirty years ago. It was obviously a sub-par sewing project for those who made it. the original tee shirt is way to big and wide for a 9-12 month onesie. So it looks very sloppy on any child at that age. But loose fit clothing is cooler. And at the teething age it does not last more than four house of drool. She had it soaked in about three hours!

We finished the Be Glad garden on Saturday afternoon. I had to have hubby help me. My breathing was so labored. The red mulch was the wrong color but cheaper than the other ones. So we filled it first with read and then topped it with the brown. I have a couple of geraniums in pots that I will move to the area today. It will remind me to water the plants every few days.

The book that I am trying to finish is “Forgive what can’t be Forgotten. It is all a little deep sometimes. I can’t listen very long. There are always garbage heaps that creep back into our memories and have to be dealt with. So I am doing some of that but will need some more concentrated time to journal some of the processing thoughts. So I picked up a “junk” book for a little while. It is from the wagon train and homestead era. Reminds me of some of the family stories that we have. All that for another journal entry also.

Today it is time for another cup of coffee. We went from a motorcycle ride Sunday and Kona did not settle at all. He enjoyed the walk at the local nature park. But would not sit still in the harness bag that I provided him. I think we will have to buy an actual doggie front sack for him that will keep him still.

My daughter has been teaching her children this from quite some time. “It is okay to ask for help.” She probably says that every time I am in her presence. And children do need a lot of help. It is great though when you can show them they can do it. Sometimes it takes a little more prodding to get the little birdies out of the nest to fly..

Flat On My Face

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Flat on my face is how I feel most days. The goals I set for myself rarely get accomplished. This week, I really wanted to get the plants that I picked up last Friday into new homes. That’s all. There were about 2 dozen that needed to be planted.

So on Monday I got right to my chores. I watered the existing plants places, found new homes for about nine or so and tried so hard to get after some weeds while I was at it. By four pm the bugs had won. The gnats, mosquitoes, flies and beetles were so bad that I was in an epsom salt and baking soda bath trying to recover. By midnight, I knew I was sick. The antihistamine overload gave me a regular stomach ache and I felt like I had the flu. West Nile? No, but I had to stay home from visiting the little people. I slept until nearly noon.

That evening after numerous attempts to do anything, I looked in the mirror and said, “wow-you look sunburned!” Nope, just totally ate up by bugs. The hives were up and down both arms, across my shoulders, and all over my neck. I was surviving on Benadryl once again. Something had to be done about the bugs.

So my wonderful hubby got after them. Two evenings of tanks full of garlic oil and bug-be-gone later, we can now be outside for more than fifteen minutes without getting carried away to the next township. We also put out a few fly traps. And ordered one of those bug zapper machines. Being sick was not much fun. Even two days later, I would work for fifteen minutes and pour sweat out of every gland. Then have to go lay down for an hour.

Falling from grace as a gardener means that I can’t handle the bugs or the weeds. How is one to even keep the garden looking good? By Thursday though the bugs had taken quite a dive in population. So I spend the day planting and weeding the hydrant flower garden. The Hydrant Bed had not been touched in over a month.

Little by little I began designing the “Be Glad” garden that will surround our new little statue that we named PollyAnna. That is still my most favorite of all childhood books. So it seemed most appropriate to name her that. Of course, she needs a little clean up after falling on her face.

My hubby decided to put out a sprinkler to keep the cat out of the area. And sure enough the top heavy stature fell over. I have some work to do next week to paint and seal her before she sits out in the weather for the next few years. So I am watching a lot of youtube videos again on statue care.

We named our girl on the bench “PollyAnna.” The picture I took after the plants were in the ground and the sprinkler made her topple from her place of grace.

The other set of plants that will mirror this garden will be planted behind the bridge. I hope to get them placed today. And I did! Still have to move some of the lilies from the vegetable garden.. The whole vegetable garden will get an update this fall also. A couple more boxes to grow veggies and more rock and edging to finish it and make it less weed prone.

On the left, the plants behind the bridge waiting for their lily sisters to join them. The middle picture is the front step with the blackened edges or borders painted on. And on the right, the lily in the Hydrant Garden thanking me for removing the bind weed and giving them some fertilizer and water.

So my daughter tells me that my little grand daughter had quite the spill the other evening. While sitting in the potty before bed time child number three fell flat in her face on the floor. Mama was in the room and did not catch her. But mother giggles are some times hard to hold back. . Because mommy thought it was funny the little girl did not cry. She is just such a little clumsy but oh so curious and courageous. We all love her sweet nature and love of all things little like animals and such. One day she was pretending that her little hands were holding a baby hedgehog at the noon meal. It was a grape. “Sheh, “ she said, “You’re scaring my hedgehog!”

I hope that’s the end of the “face plants” for the week. I really don’t want to experience it myself. So I am glad to have the black line painted on my steps edges to define them better. My sister was the first to put blackened edges on the top and bottom step. Of course it does not help at night, but during the bright daytime house it is amazingly helpful.

The best Bible story I can think of is when the Philistines took the Ark of the Covenant and placed it in the temple of thegod Dagon. The man made idol fell on it’s face day after day until the head actually fell off. I Samuel chapter five tells the story if you’d like to read it. The point of the whole story is that God is real and man’s imagination is God given and no image can bear the presence of the awesome Creator of the world. I thank God that my little PollyAnna is just a cement replica and only a type of an Ebenezer stone to remind me of the “Be Glad” game. Being Glad that God has given us so many things to remind us of the One who is the Beginning and The End. Alpha and Omega.

Kona’s Journal

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Week 37 of 51… Kona has spend thirty seven weeks of his life here with us. He is nearly one year old and will soon tranisition to adult puppy-hood. I sometimes wonder at how good is while hoping I did not mess his training up too much.

One Sunday in May Kona had a very bad crate day. We left him in a stranger’s garage in his crate only to have him “freak out!” Because that said stranger came back but did not take any care for him before we could get bacck to him. Well, the stress made him do his worst crate small puppy syndrome ever. What a mess. And it was a situation that I felt so helpless in as my eyesight hindered me from doing any clean up help. At that very moment in time, I was ready to just give the dog-gone dog away. Then…

We took him to a graduation party where there were lots of people. He had already had his freak out insecure neurotic experience for the day, so the grad party was pretty calm. He spent most of the time on my lap. During the party, he had a chance to light up someone’s life. Kona got to sit in Ernie’s lap for about fifteen minutes.

Ernie is my cousin’s son. He suffered a massive stroke about seven months ago. Unfortunately, this left his abilities diminished and his emotional scarring is fairly unknown. Stroke victims often express the over riding “sadness” that they feel as a result of the injuries. Ernie has spent much of the last five months in physical therapy. One of the things that lit up his face was the presence of a visiting therapy dog.

Kona’s visit with Ernie that day also made him really smile.

Over six weeks have passed by since Kona saw Ernie. But they say once a dog “licks” someone he will always know that person. So this Saturday when Ernie arrived at the family gathering, I was not surprised to see Kona perk up immediately when the wheelchair entered the room.

The attraction for Kona and Ernie is evidently mutual. Kona’s little body went directly into a pointer position and his tail was wagging excitedly. And when the little fourteen pound fur ball was placed on Ernie’s lap he curled right up for his petting session.

Thus began the discussion once again about a dog for Ernie. My cousin and I have talked on the phone a couple of times about “trial” runs with Kona. This trial run looks a little different that actually getting a dog. First of all, there are no strings attached. Except of course Kona’s leash and harness. It’s a great option to discover if having a dog even works into their busy learning life anew pace. Ernie’s care is pretty full time. So adding a dog to care for might just put stress over the edge.

Then again… Having pet therapy for a child that is so “sad” because of this life change, could just add the happy back to their home. Ernie has such a vibrant, comical, jovial spirit, that perhaps a dog could mirror that “feeling” and help him find some happiness again.

My study this past year over “dog mirror” reflection has led me to so many conclusions. There are three types of dogs really. Front, middle, and back of the pack dogs all have a role to play once trained. But trying to train the high energy or low energy dog out of themselves is not possible. A high energy dog even if it is back of the pack will push the pack to high anxious energy. I have no desire to ever have a high energy dog agin no matter what part of the pack he or she comes from.

Kona was the “middle” of the pack in his puppy life. Three puppies were born, two brown and one black. He was the last of the pups to leave and that makes him the back of the pack. But he is considered a low energy dog even though he is fairly high maintenance.

On the reflection nature…. I have watched him get amped up from children that are easily excitable. I have also watched him just sit on an elderly person’s lap for nearly an hour, just watching the world happen. Kona does not have to be in the center of all of the activity. We have worked hard at training him to “place” out of the way during high activity times. Like supper preparation, gathering items for leaving, and even outside when children are navigating stairways.

Code words for Kona. Come. Sit. Stay. Shake. Paw. Place. Up. Down. On. Off. Load up. Potty. Go Pee. Wait. Leave it. Okay. Heel. Be Still. Roll Over. Get a Toy. Brush your teeth. Go to bed. Buckle up. Get a drink. Be careful. Gentle. Enough.

Kona’s schedule. 8 am Awake Buckle up Heel Outside Go Potty. Go pee. Good Boy! (That’s Me). 8:30 am wipe your paws, Unbuckle. Breakfast *sit, stay, wait, shake, spin, leave it, (fill water) okay (Now I can eat). Brush your teeth in place (Chew on my bone) while we eat. Get a toy, play fetch for fifteen minutes or so. 9 am settles for rest. 10:30 or 11 go out, buckle up, go pee, heel back inside. Repeats at 12:30 or one. Again at 2:30 or 3. Also at about five pm before supper prep hour. He gets his scoop of food on the maize bowl when we eat supper, so that he is busy in his place while we supper. During training period we tied him up to his place. Buckle up again at 7 pm or so for his evening lighten up. He goes pee again at 8:30 or so depending on how much frenzy and play and drink, he may need to go twice before bed. Snuggle before bed.

Kona is on his first over night therapy visit. I still can’t believe the puppy that use to loose his bladder on Gavin last November has arrived at a therapy moment. And he is such a good boy. It just makes me well up with tears when I think of the mutual attraction that he has with Ernie.

Kona’s Douglas fir trough bed got a coat of stain this week. The poly finish should make it easier to wipe clean. It is his “place” in the kitchen. And He can be found there even during other times throughout the day.

I am a little delayed on his weekend review. Kona decided that “dad” in the house was not his friend. So he barked at him all the time. He also cleaned house for them, and picked up a lot of little things. Thus the constant attention device and trade busy day. Night time sleep is not a real constant thing with much upset through the night, Kona did not sleep very well either. And when they left him for a short outing, he did his ususal anxiety dump on the kitchen floor. Other than that they found out Mom was not ready for the work of a doggie in their home yet. She has too many other people to care for to take on an attention device like Kona. Good to know. We will continue to take Kona for visits to Ernie and Millie so that they can get their puppy cuddles and giggles out!

YOUniquely You

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Journal # 285 and over 10K words total is proof that my mother use to always call me a little “wordy!” Here goes for this Monday’s entry. And a deeper dive into what makes me and the things that I say “uniquely me.”

Today is Easter Monday. (I was also pleased that one of the local schools called the day off this on their calendar schedule also.). When I was a child we used to get the day off from school. Super handy for getting that long distance shopping day in or recovering from some spring cough or allergy to rainy season. But spending the day in bed was not part of my schedule. I woke up with the hidden sunrise and heard the raindrops hitting the roof. At least the grass seed that we put out will have a chance to germinate with the moisture.

One of the earliest “quotes” that my parents remind me of is the Sunday that I went to church and boldly proclaimed “Our Daddy left us!” My mother was attending a staunchly German Baptist church at the time with her three little girls. The pews were set up so that no woman ever sat by a man who was not her husband. This statement surely embarrassed both her and any other ears that heard. My dad was gone on an Elk hunt with some very men from the community. He had only left for a two week time frame. What on earth did those stiff upper class folks think of this family of three little girls with such a “man’s man” father?

Today the turkey carcas is in the crock pot smelling the whole house up. We had the meat for the Sunday gathering meal. So today it’s time to cook up the bone broth. I really don’t like slow cooker Monday. It kind of ruins my appetite for eating supper. Smelling the scent all day long does that for me.

Snow holidays are usualy Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year, and Valentine’s Day. But ever since we lived in Minnesota for a few years, I am no longer disappointed with Easter Sno. It snowed all four years that we spent Easter up there. When Easter falls in March or early April, one can expect colder weather in this northern hemisphere.

With pleasure a couple of memories came flooding back into my mind today. The turkey smell made me think of how many times my aunt and her sister’s actually killed and roasted a wild turkey for our family Thanksgiving or Christmas gathering. My auntie was such a good cook. And the other memory is of my Grandfather expecting the home health nurse to help him clean the turkey before she could take care of Grandma. Only in western South Dakota would the home health care worker need to know how to clean and dress a turkey along with an elderly fragile person’s care..

I am listening to the Rich Mullins “devotional-biography” that I found on my audible listening app. The first question that was posed to me is: What Makes Me Uniquely Me? Of course the answer is our genes, our lineage, our unique set of circumstances and upbringing. Here I will attempt to answer that question throughout these journal writings.

Moving things around in the greenhouse does not seem necessary when the sun is not shining. But rotating the geraniums is key to a well rounded plant. It is so fun to see all the blooms showing up. I am super happy that some of the two-tone varieties actually rooted up this year. The single colors make wonderful long distant displays from the road, but the bicolor blooms are great table top or stair case plants. Just like each plant is unique in it’s own way, so are we one of a kind. Indeed all of life’s moving our family around when I was a child and as an adult played a part in shaping me. Making me relatable and flexible to each and every church community that I participated in.

Hubby finally sold the junk car this week. It’s been sitting idle for two or more years. Last use was my daughter’s bum car so she could get back and forth to work in bad weather. I am glad to see it go. With only one driver on the farm here, it seemed silly to hang unto it just because… for what? I don’t need a car to drive, because I no longer drive.

This week the little petunias have to get potted up. But it’s so cold down in the greenhouse for working with 50 degree soil. Okay maybe it’s warmer than that but at 55 degrees my hands just get too cold. Hopefully they can make it until Wednesday when the sun is shining.

I know that I am the only ME that there will ever be. Thinking about the special touch of the Creator on my life is key to not blaming my genetic line for all of my “faults” and letting God be sovereign in my life. From letting go of a car I cannot drive, to preparing the greenhouse to be watched over by someone else all plays into my acceptance of who I am today. Sunday morning when I was blessed to play the Easter church service prelude, I found myself truly worshiping God while I played the piano. My three days of practice had payed off and I could give my best to the Master Creator who had made me ME. No longer able to read the music, I had to study it prior to pounding out the chord progressions and then figure out how to move from one to the next with no music in front of me at all. All of my life challenges and struggles had come to that point for me. And I truly did have fun making playing the piano like child’s play.

And YOU are the only you that there will ever be. What about your family heritage made your Easter especially special this year? What about your struggles and challenges makes you a better you than you were many years ago? What about today speaks to your unique time and place and shows you that God’s hand has been there all along leading you up to this day?