Tag: pain

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

Momentary Afflictions

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2 Corinthians 4:16-18 “Therefore we do not loose heart. Even though our outward man is perishing, yet the inward man is being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary affliction is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory, while we do not look at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen. For the things which are seen are temporary, but the things which are not seen are eternal.”

Thirty five years ago I woke up from anesthesia following an appendectomy and hear this little song in my mind as my conscienceless returned to me: “The birds upon the tree tops sing their songs, they lift their little voices all life long, so why can’t I? Why can’t you, Praise Him Too!” It has taken me nearly that long to understand that purpose statement in my life.

When my ears are nearly blowing up from the sinus pressure of a very long allergy season, how do I find my voice to Praise God? When the wind is blowing and the low whine is driving me insane just as the wind nearly did some thirty years earlier during a blizzard, how do I Praise God now? How can I praise God when I am having a bad day physically, because my eyes don’t tell me where I am anymore? There are days I find it hard to find a song of praise.

These present afflictions can go on and on some days zapping our energy, our hope, our focus, our love, our kindness and even our faith. We live in a world of full of erosion and destruction. Every day becomes a battle to grow an inner belief that does not fade.

So taking a look at the moments in my life today. What is true? My first focus of any day is what is the weather. I want to know how to dress. I am so glad that I have a home that keeps me out of the elements all night long and that I have a device to tell me how the weather is for the day. The truth is the air surrounding me is more my focus than the One who gives me the ability to breath that air. Lord, thank You for giving me so much!

What is noble? Looking for the grandeur amongst the clay pots of life is more to be commended that studying the dirt that fills the pot. For me it’s all about the beauty of the plant in the pot. Today, the holiday cactus put a new blooms on. Last year I have five months of continuous blooms on the plant. It amazes me to see the beauty of the trumpeting bloom declaring God’s infinite imagination!

What is just? While many of us wish life could always be fair, much of the time it simply is not. Like what justice is there in my husband’s having a muscular dystrophy that is so obscure and debilitating? What justice is there in giving me a body that could walk miles but lungs that won’t allow it? Physcially speaking living in a fallen world means justice is not to had within our life here. God’s justice is not often known here on earth. It’s eternal justice that we seek, and even that is only done by the everlasting kindness of a merciful God through Jesus.

What is pure? There are days, I am reminded that little Kona has a little white spot on his chest. I think of that spot as his purity mark. Dog’s love with pure abandon. They have no preconceived plans for the day. They have no concept of anything other than what we offer them. God put His mark of love in Kona’s little heart and it shines right through to make a spot on his chest reminding me that God loves us with pure abandon also. Jesus left his home in heaven and came to show us what pure love looks like. It is so bright it sends all the darkness away!

What things are lovely? Praise God for so many lovely thoughts to turn me our of my troubling mindset. The wind can really do a number on me mentally. But only God can take this momentary affliction and help me find things to Praise Him about. It is lovely to have a classic radio station to drown out the wind. It is lovely to have husband that loves me enough to call and see how I’m handling the day. It is lovely to have a puppy lean on my legs and tell me I am not alone.

What good report have I to share with you? I finished the pink / gray scarf with the nordic Freyja heart pattern. I did it thinking about breast cancer awareness. I have two aunts and now a cousin who has survived the dreaded cancer. That is a good report!

Kona testing the rug that is finally finished. He is starting to do the comfy test on every item I crochet.

What virtuous and praise worthy thing can I meditate on today? So thankful for my daughter’s and the virtues that God has instilled in them. From one being a mother that constantly plants good seeds into her children, to the other being a boss that lifts up her employees to do their best, God has granted me two beautiful women to watch on a daily basis be praiseworthy and virtuous .

Phillipians 4 verse eight says, “Finally, brethren, whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of a good report if there be any virtue or if there be anything praise worthy, think (meditate) on these things.” (ESV). I use to get stuck on the whatever attitude that people had for a time, something like the overuse of the word “like.” Thinking on the good report rather than all the negative bad news in the world is a focus challenge. While my ears feel like they are about to blow up and I am deciding on whether I need more medicine or the doctor, I must decide to think upon the good report. For example, today the tub of onions that I received from my dad’s onion patch got tipped over at some point last spring. We just left it that way, and sure enough the onions prefer growing on the ground than in the tub. I was able to harvest a few for my chicken noodle soup today.

Greenhouse update or good report: The aloe vera plant went crazy this past year loving the atmosphere in the dome. I now have seven plants to give away where there was just two before. I’ll keep two and get rid of the extra.

My crochet story good report: I finished the pink scarf and started another. Even though I lost a whole bag of yarn this last few months. I misplaced while preparing for the grandkids overnight stay when little newborn brother came along. I still have not found the lost bag of yarn. My husband was nice and let me buy more!

Five Little Kittens

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Five little guys entered my life last weekend. We received a box full of toes one evening from a friend. Our population of mouse hunters on the farm has dwindled to one. When I found a dead critter in my watering can, I was a bit upset. So it was time to begin again with some new feline busy bodies.

Five little furry kittens all licking mittens were cuddling in a box, One jumped up to catch a string, and the others followed to see this thing, and there were no more kittens in the box!

Naming the little guys might be easier said than done. First of all I can’t use any magicians nor cats from famous books, because my husband can’t even say “Bagheera“ correctly and that is the black panther from “Jungle Book” in case you did not know either. Famous people with the name Black doesn’t work as I don’t like people names for pets. Calling my cat “Clint” just seems weird (Clint Black). The most famous Black scientist that I could think of was George Washington Carver, Percy Julian and that doesn’t match either. On we go, we’ll just be generic and call the black cat, Blackly!

Next most obvious is Stripes. Yep, The pinstriped tiger grey kitty does not look like a tiger to me. Just Stripes! That would do, let’s just be obvious..Then there is Spots. The only one that when looking down on them in the food dish, has spots. Yep, let’s be exact. However, the next two are a little less conspicuous. Boots has legs that look like lace-ups or buckles on them. Socks is black on the back, but all white paws and legs like a sport sock that goes up to the knee.

Boots, Socks, Stripes, Spots, and Blackly

Finding the escape artist is now part of my daily routine until we get the kittens to the vet and are ready to let them be outside. Magic tricks are not my favorite television watching past time. I never see the “trick” and miss the whole point of the act. So considering myself a magic act is kind of funny. But a cat can never resist a string. So that’s the devise that I use to trick them into coming back into the room. I know that they are ready for some more roaming space.

The other morning I had to have reminder that the dog was sleeping next door in the old house to escape the thunderstorm. My hubby felt sorry from him and gave him a rug to sleep on. We really need a garage or back porch inclosed for the old boy. Charlie is nine or ten now and getting more and more scaredy-cat than ever. I think he would benefit from some pheromone treatment for sure.

And of other boxes. We were not able to help my daughter and her family move into their new house as much as we thought we would. Yes we did hlep with the kids and some packing up before hand. But my hubby ended up with a herniated disc from trying to lift the cast iron old wood cook stove. It was in the Old, old house two doors east of us. They ended up using a rope and a tractor and a skid-loader to get it out of the way. Who knew that the thing was so heavy?

Little kids are just about as curious as kittens. They just can’t resist getting into what is not theirs. Or being destructive with toys that they do not understand (age inappropriateness). We found so many little mix-ups with the toy containers. I am still trying to et things put away again. Some things will get hidden for the next visit. Just not dealing with toys out of age range and the busy mess. Uff dah.

One afternoon was spent cleaning the weeds out of the hydrant flower bed. The bug bites were so numerous, I spend the next 24 hours in sick mode. They really do make me feel like I have the flu. The body aches and the fatigue are more than I can handle. But then I just thought about my poor husband’s herniated disc, and let that sympathetic nausea tell me that I was okay. Today is better but now the humidity and the lawn mowing “fresh cut grass” smell is bothering my asthma. So truly if it’s not one thing it’s another.

I lost two beautiful plants in the greenhouse over the last week. Two of them were ivy types. And they had been looking so beautiful. What a bummer. Sometimes I think I should give up on plants. I do the easy ones for the most part and even then, they end up dead just out of the blue.

Good and faithful

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“When there are no words only hugs will do.”

Our family has said goodbye to the patriarch. A little over a month ago an accident happened that set up a series of events that led to the loss of my husband’s dear father. The one statement that was repeated most frequently by all in attendance of our losss was that “he was the most wonderful man that I ever did know.” This was often in comparison to a grandfather, or other such memorable figure in the speaker’s life. Such a great cloud of witnesses one never knows within the confines of this life. It is only in death that the knowledge of true character is revealed.

Our loss is heart wrenching, but our hope is ever present. We all cannot imagine facing such heart break without the hope of eternal life. It is that very faith that lifts us up out of the tears of grief into the Savior’s blessed words, “Blessed are they who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”’

Praying Jesus over life and death is something not necessarily new to me. However, being so close to the eternal gates with a loved one made me more aware than ever of the spiritual battle for the souls of mankind. I was so blessed to pray with my father-in-law twice during the last few days of his life. Asking Jesus to be present during the painful moments of stepping from this life to the next was a priviledge that I do not take lightly.

Holding what is dear until we are asked to let go is not easy. Yet during this hard transition it is Jesus whom we hold most dear. Our Lord is the truth that carries us through the difficulty of letting go of the present age. Praise God that He is truly the author and finisher of our lives.

Breathing eternal hope in thermos of our deepest pain is the true test of our faith. It is during this deep suffering that we identify with Christ who suffered for our sakes. Once I heard the Lord’s name “Yahweh” described as a breathing word. Yah is spoken on the intake of breath, and Weh is whespered as the breath is expelled. This is such a powerful expression of the Giver and Taker of life. The one who breathed the breath of life into the first created human being is the one who gives each person the first breath of air when born. And the Alpha dn the Omega, the beginning and the end, is also the One whose name we are to whisper in our final death.

Asking for what can’t be given is still okay to ask. “Ask and you shall recieve” does not always mean that we are given exactly what we have asked for. Perhaps “No” s the perfect answer for our humble need. I still find it hard to comprehend the painful examples of so many millions of children not receiving what they needed in life. Dieing of hunger, thirst or extreme abuse at the mercy of life’s atrocious suffering. I cannot reconcile this torture in my mind. yet I must accept that asking for what cannot be given is still okay to ask.

Each one’s loss is worthy of grief. Whether that loss is a wife with memory loss, a child with cancer, untimely deafness, or an auto immune illness that redirects our life. Grief comes in many different waves of the many different oceans of experience. Each person grieves individually. No one mourns loss the same way. Identifying with another’s pain can be difficult. One’s loss of spouse at early age is different than the death of a spouse of longevity. Blindness at age two is different than blindness at age 72. Deafness at birth is different that deafness at age 50. Yet each one’s grief is still valid and needs the comfort of shared loss.

Psalm 61:5 says “For You, O God, have given me the heritage of those who fear Your name.” Indeed the heritage of one who fears the Lord is the best inheritance one could ever ask for. Gratefulness is overwhelming the grief. There is no thought for the morrow like that of hoping one’s children’s children serve Christ Jesus as Lord. This prayer is worth knocking upon the door of the Great God of the ages to open His door of eternal blessings.

Hard to be happy but easy to be glad. Yes, I said that right. It is hard to be happy that someone get’s to go to heaven before us. Yet we must wait our turn. For the Almighty calls who He chooses. So it is easy to be glad in Jesus knowing that our turn will one day come for eternity’s gates to be opened and we too will be ushered into glory with overwhelming welcome and joy.

Listening skills are important when sitting with the grief stricken. “But I keep thinking of things to tell him.” It seems there is never enough. Quiet time has new meaning. In the house of mourning there may still be laughter yet. When mom says that she just wants to be with dad, I responded with “I won’t take it personally.” My company was not disdained or undesired, it just was an expressed preference. Yes, mom, I won’t take it personally that Jesus is a more desirable presence. I just hope that in some small wayI can be the presence of His Holiness during this time of grieving.

The outt pouring of love towards our dear ones during this mourning period is sometimes overwhelming. To hear from an old Sunday School student from nearly forty years ago about how much dad shaped his life walk with Jesus is almost unbelievable. Yet this is what it means to be good and faithful all of one’s life. My cup runners over. That is the best way to describe the comfort that is being sent forth, even as the empty chair sits empty. Even as the heart break fills so very empty, The Holy Spirit indeed is comforting in every prayer sent Heavenward for this dear family of mine as we count the blessings for knowing this good and faithful servant.

Stacking Logs

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Today’s hymn study is “At the Cross” by Isaac Watts. Some one such as I could have no idea what it means to grasp the Cross as the only hope in this life. Yet I must embrace this one and only Hope for it is the only way to remove the burden that weighs down my heart for those whom I love and perhaps NOW I can be happy all the day for Christ truly is the only true weight lifter in this life I live.

Coping with going blind often has its challenges that lead me to have nightmares that I do not understand. Sometimes having to be a statue in the midst of the moving storm about me is the best option for navigating the day. Like the recent Christmas during the summertime. The constant ebb and flow of the people that are there often lead to to feeling much like a log jam on the river as it heads to the sawmill!

Preparing for life changes has led me to learning how to “give up” things that drain my energy. Being the sit still person in the crowd use to make me feel like I was alone in the crowd. There are moments when I feel perhaps the Lord is rather teaching me how to be the lighthouse on the rocks for others. A person to come to who will listen and empathize and give the Hope of Jesus into their lives.

Then there is night. Where I have this recurring dream. One in which I am standing amidst a pile of logs that need to be stacked. Organized into size appropriate piles. Stacked neatly and ready for use. I feel lost. I feel overwhelmed. I feel like the whole lot will crash about me once again and I will never escape the never ending pile. No matter which way I turn the logs are all in a jam.

Psalm 61 is a prayer from the depths of the pit. So is Psalm 42. But today all I can thing is “How long? O God? How long?” My very soul is weary and sad. I am utterly disheartened and lost.

Depresson is settling in again. The nightmares about stacking logs of all various kinds and sizes have returned. Along with the constant over riding feeling of anger at everything. The headaches are back. The sleepless nights. The old enemies are here to ruin me.

Trying to do anything is like working with an elephant on my chest, a bear on my back, an alligator in my brain, and a Tasmanian Devil running circles about me and a hyena laughing constantly in my ear. The high pitch whistle of the dryer does not help any of these things.

Kona is just a week away from being one year old. His therapeutic nature is thriving. He is becoming such a good boy!

My dogs did not make me happy. They became more and more work. And they wake me up out of my sleep just when I finally get some. They bark at nothing just to irritate me. Charlie does not make me smile when he refuses to even come when called. Honey rolled in so much awful stench this previous month that we shaved her to nothing and then I didn’t even want to look at her. Skinny doodle is not pleasing to my eyes at all. (Well she is gone now.) Kona has decided to keep getting into things just to get bad attention and then never gets any good play time. *note the whole dynamic of my household is much calmer without a hyper golden doodle. Resolve that we will never have a hybrid man made disaster dog again. And so I decided to re-home Kona. Only to realize that it was Honey that had to go.

Life feels so hopeless right now. Food is not even fun anymore. It is so much work to cook when the eyesight is not there for the recipes. I get so dizzy that the turning around in circles is awful.

Becoming… use to be about someone’s beauty…. We would say “oh, she is so becoming!” Well, there are days looking in the mirror is avoided. I don’t find myself so very becoming. Especially when…

Becoming blind…

My two grand daughter’s becoming good little artist at their activity table.

Going to my daughter’s to help only lends to making me feel more helpless than ever. The meal prep is impossible for me to help. The house is so kid cluttered that it is a nightmare for a blind person. All of her chairs are so uncomfortable for me that it does no good to go to the chiropractor just to have my tailbone go out by the end of the day. My enjoyment in going to “watch” kiddos is hampered by the fact that the house is so dark I rarely can really “see” them anyways.

God, how long? Do I have to keep trying to do what fails and does not bring me joy? How long do I have to keep pretending that happiness is something that can be grasped. My life feels like a grasping after the wind. My hands want to hold water that satisfies and my cup is empty.

Must the nightmares go on? I am standing within a stack of logs that need to fed into the stove. Some of them are the wrong size and only let the stove billow out smoke while I try to push the logs into it. Some of the pieces can be pulled out and rearranged to fit properly. But many of them are ashen and on fire themselves. I sweat and scream as I try to desperately get the logs back into the hot stove. My eyes are burning with sweat and tears. My lungs are burning from the smoke. Soon my lack of air makes me pass out and my empty cries wake me up to the “real world” where I am still going blind. Still can’t find my way out of the stack of logs and still can’t figure out which way is the bathroom without using my hands to tell me where I am.

How long O God?

Must the nightmares go on? I am standing in a long narrow hallway where there are log stacks on either side of me. Somewhere near both ends the wall of logs has fallen. I am desperately trying to put the stack back so that it will remain upright. Suddenly I see my family in the chasm below and while I stand with one leg on either side of the pile of logs, they begin to fall. I begin to fall. I scream at them to get out of the falling timbers and begin crashing to the ground. The logs are hitting me everywhere. My head, my back, my arms and legs are getting pinned by the logs. I am screaming and still falling. Suddenly I wake in pool of sweat and try to find the bathroom nightlight. It has moved again out of my line of view and I panic as I try to put it into my eyesight.

How long O God?

Until my eyesight closes in and what will be the last thing that my eyes will make out for my memory to see? Why must I have such a vivid imagination and the nightmares keep me up at night?

MONDAY MORNING

This morning I am pulling the log out of my own eye. Yesterday I experienced something emotionally that made me feel literally sick to my stomach. I will try to tell the story as briefly as possible.

While I was away and at church with my mother and sister’s family, I had asked a neighbor to care for my puppy. I forgot that perhaps my daughter would have been available. It probably would have been all avoided otherwise. And of course this neighbor had an eventful day in an of her own. Meanwhile, she and a friend did come over and proceed to help themselves to some of the plants in the greenhouse. All good I had said they could. When I realized however that the beautiful propegation “mother” plants in the clay pots had been removed. I began, my emotional being was scarred. First experience for me was trying to figure out how to handle this. And then I began to recall all the things that my mother has been through this past month. Especially her wondering where something was that we had removed from her house. My remorse and full emotional impact of evertyhing that has occurred flooded through my mind.

Doily on left made by my mother’s Aunt Gertrude. Two of the many white milk glass dishes. The china “ash tray” that was in my mother’s grandma‘s collection.

My mother’s sense of abandonment, her feelings that some are treating her roughly, and her confusion about why they won’t let her have her things if she wants them. Most people do not understand the work involved in propagation of pelargoniums or geraniums. It is a long wintering project of mine that gives me something to do and to get out of my lazy crochet chair. The value of the plants to me is more than five of ten dollars. Let alone a mother plant that has been in the same giant clay pot (which itself is spendy). The whole weight of my mother’s heart seemed pressed upon me and they care of her emotional well being was heavy upon my own heart.

While my mother had some strokes and lost some short term memory connections for cooking and feeding herself meals, the long term memory about things and even the family genealogy and history is very strong. And she still knows the heart of her children sometimes better than they know themselves.

How can I express to my siblings that she knows who has disrespected her life work. She knows who honors the value of each item that she worked hard for all of those years. She was a lowly bank teller, and budgeted for her every spending penny. These were her things and she has the right to them all. Anyone who thinks that “out of sight” is “out of mind” on the elderly is fooling themselves. Long term care is often for those whose long term memory is still quite vivid.

And it’s time for a fruits of the Spirit checkup. While I am becoming more and more like my parents as I grow older. The real question is -Am I becoming like Christ?

Love… sitting at the table with my older sister we made the conclusion that our marriages are truly based on love. There is no score keeping or reward system. We do for each other (our spouses and selves) what we can out of LOVE. Joy can be found if you pick up the rocks that are often in the way. Sometimes the joy is found under the the toughest search. But if we lift up the leaves on the bushes, the berries are there. Peace often eludes me for sleep. But sometimes a night without air in the airbed reminds you just how peaceful and comfortable your own bed is. When patience is no longer part of how we handle the over flowing cup of life, it’s time to step back empty out the “busy” and take more time for Jesus one on one time. Gentleness can return to our normal conversation language when we fill up with the right stuff! Goodness is all around us. Even when the physical buildings and bodies we watch are crumbling down, it’s the indwelling Spirit that shines forth. Faithfulness is so hard to grasp when life seems to close down on me with all of it’s ugliness and suffering. But God is ever faithful and supplies all of our needs in Christ Jesus. Meekness is not something anyone knows thses days. I pray that God will allow me to use the wisdom and insights that He gives me with meekness that empowers others to Hope in Jesus also. Self control is lost among all of the bitterness and strife that people through away at each other’s feet. If only we can hold our tongues when those edges creep in and learn to hand our trials over to the Savior instead of lashing out at other’s like the venomous being that so easily deceives.

Lord, Help me to do more things in my life by heart… like playing the piano by heart. When it feels so natural to grab some lady by the hand in the nursing facility and say, “Come let’s play piano together.” And it is so natural to play piano by heart. Loving, talking, and showing Jesus to others by heart. Let it become natural for me to share my insights and the reason for the hope that lies within me.

Measuring Up

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When things go wrong, sometimes they really go down hill like an avalanche. And though yes, one recently occurred out west on a ski slope, I’m talking about common everyday mishaps and blunders. This week I began to wonder if the guardian angels had gone on strike!

“Every way of a man is right in his own eyes, but the Lord weighs the heart.” —Proverbs 21:2

Last evening as I was playing in the hall with the little black mop, my golden doodle barked directly in my right ear. Nice sharp pain accompanied my own yelp of “OUCH!” Then an oozing feeling inside my ear followed with more ringing like a loud old fashioned school bell. Yep, that hurt. After an hour, when the feeling did not leave me, I decided I had enough of tears and went to bed.

A ruptured ear drum in my GOOD ear was not how I planned the next few weeks. Recovering from my highly anxious, high energy Honey is how I have spent much of my time with her in my life. High energy has now been defined as a dog who thrives on generous doses of energetic activity. And if there is any energy movement in the home, the high energy dog wants to be in the CENTER of the activity. She will not sit back and watch any active movement. Even if it is just sweeping the kitchen floor. This dog want to be in the middle of the dust pile. If she is not… She will make a dust pile to be in!

It will be awful quiet around here as I spend time resting on the new sofa cushions letting my eyes just tear as much as they want too. Gosh darn but this dog is going to kill me one of these days.

Finished my sofa makeover for the new year. 2024 begins with a new C2C gingham blanket and two pillows made from the leftover yarn. I am very happy with the end result. And yes they are comfy also.

We attempted to go to church with my ear drum all in a dither. As soon as the piano started playing, I had to leave. The sound is so sharp and my head just throbs. I’m trying to keep away from the vertigo that is lingering on the doorstep.

Being the resourceful person that I am, I decided to try and give Honey some smell therapy. When we got home I put some lavender oil on her handkerchief and wrapped it around her neck. On the way home, I asked my good shopper to buy some lavender and chamomile scent scapes or something for the plug in., He found an air wick brand aroma therapy. So for the win, I caught her going to rest almost immediately after plugging it in.

So my little black Kona and I can continue our cuddle sessions. Poor Honey has not had frisbee time in over a week. Perhaps that would explain her bottled up energy outburst. The temperatures are looking much better for the forecasted future.

While I find myself not measuring up to my own expectations, I am reminded that God has His own standard of measurements. And every where I look across my family prayer list there is need. May the Lord weigh my heart and find it not lacking in my prayers and hopes for the needs of others. Meanwhile I hope this ear thing does not turn into a fever. That would require a visit to the doctor.

Empty rabbit hole

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At too yellow

Where I am at is not where anyone else wants to be. I find myself in an empty rabbit hole, running around in circles and never finding my way out. The only way out is up. Reaching up for the ladder that is just out of touch. Being too short to touch the bottom rung, then I will need to jump. Jumping up to grasp what is just beyound reach. My attempts to be anything but the rabbit that I once was leaves me exhausted,. No one wants to pretend at life. The whole idea is that Halloween costume party might just exist everyday for some…

At this point in my existence, I am at covering up who I am now by who I once was. Learning to deal with the change in my abilities to navigate the normal life that everyone else still lives has left me faking the smile. Pretending to be okay in my rabbit hole. The world goes on. The people around me have left. The others have their daily interactions with others. I have a rabbit hole.

Pushed over a cliff. That’s me. Sitting on a ledge with a large rock wall just before me. Open the door for me and push me first. The anxiety and the fear that surfaces from the unknown because of my eyes inablity to adjust to the change form outside to inside or from inside to outside. Might as well push me over a cliff. Who pushes a blind person first? Lots of people don’t understand. This anxiety from new and the constant flow of people in a group setting, continues to set me face value with a rock wall in front of me. Finding the face level of an outstretched hand is like asking me to go first. This anxiety of meeing new people or new situations has left me sitting out on a ledge with a rock wall in front of me and a deep cavern heading off in all directions.

Chasing a bunny tail around in circles. That is me. The less one goes to experience new, the more life is just chasing the owner’s tail. Round and round the sun travels. Round and round the familiar circles go. Yet with the blindness that comes my way, the circle grow smaller. The never ending expansion of one’s life and experiences, has now reversed direction. Until all that remains is the beginning of the line. And now all the bunny does is chase his own tail. Not a very fun day actually.

Socially deprived dogs will develop anxiety or elements of acting surprised at every thing that happens. Whether it is the door bell, the phone ringing, or a neighborhood child that cries out, a dog that has not been exposed to lots of experiences will overreact. Never mind the dog, my days are now turning into the socially deprived mutt-hood. Without the proper training and constant repetition of social skills, they become lost. Empty days in the country turn the hermit into an angry mutt. This is not the me that I want to be. The country bumpkin I used to be longs for sitting on the busy corner of a street and do some good old people watching.

An empty planterbox sitting in front of the parked car reminds me once again where I am at. The days that coming home to the pretty plants adorning the parked vessels are so long ago in the past. Filling the boxes so that someone else can park there and enjoy the view as they arrive… Nope. My life is that empty planter box. I do not take that vessel to wherever I so chose. Filling the boxes just reminds me that I no longer have the choice to go away and return to an enjoyable view. It is not an enjoyable view when it is all that I ever see.

Open the door to a brick wall that stands in front of me. Outside my daily empty rabbit hole there is a brick wall. Seeing a future ahead is getting harder and harder. I do not see a future without the view of delapitating buildings around me. Living on an acreage where things are just left to fall apart, reminds me that my eyesight is failing. It is very depressing to imagine a future filled with the view of buildings crumbling. While others leave and do not see the crumbling status, who wants to imagine this view as the last days of their eyesight. I do not want to just watch buildings crumble, while my eyesight fails me. These images will be burned in my brain. I want to watch things being taken care of. I want to see neighbors fixing their roofs. I want to see people planting their gardens.

Lacking social skills is attributed to children who do not slpend time with peers. No one understands the value of an active life more than sn inactive life. Not having peers or people to go do things with has left me empty and lacking in social skills. I still know how to ask someone else all the right questions, but having no experience outside of my rabbit hole makes me an empty person to be with. Therefore, no one comes

Gas tank on empty usually gives a driver a little red flag or red signal on the dashboard. When I look in the mirror agter the same empty start to each day, I see a signal eep in my soul that the gas tank is on empty.

Not many days ago, I found myself tired of not having expressed anything about myself to for so long a period of time around a group of people, that when I finally did, there was an audible “shushing” that escaped someone next to me. The feelings that followed the experience were undeniably awful. Everyone has feelings, and when left to never express those feelings eventually they ooze outward. Being shushed in the midst of the expressing left me collaping into

Too yellow

Who would tell a dandelion she is too yellow? Lots of people do this very thing every day. Telling the dandelion not to shine so bright in the sea of green grass. Telling the expressive soul not to be soo loud, or the nonconformist to be more like everyone else around them. I begin to wonder what the world would be like without Picasso, Rembrandt, Mozart, or Debussy. What would the new world have looked like without Columbus, or Sacagawea, or Madison? Why do we shush the abortion debate, the political issues, or the holocaust? Will there even be any history in the history books? Maybe dandelions are just yellow. Not too yellow.

Just yellow. Not too expressive. Not too passionate. Not too wordy. Not too loud. Not too boisterous. Not to excitable. Not too Impressive. Not too intimidating. Not too dramatic. Not too bright. Not too dreamy. Not too hopeful. Not too flamboyant. Not too artistic. Not too creative. Not too inventive. Not too different. Just yellow.

Winter gives way to spring

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New rainy day projects

The past two weeks were full of research for me. watching appropriate videos of poetry conferences, to news blurbs, to crochet patterns. Some of what I watched was memorable. Some a desperate wish to forget!

Lately my favorite past time is hats, mittens, and turtle scarves to perfection. The hat is a new stitch patter using the moss stitch or the single crochet beanie. There are nearly ten made already. The first few were made with leftover scraps. The set above was made with one skein of BrightStripes from my Grandmother’s favorite durable Red Heart brand. I had to borrow form another skein to complete the mitten thumb. The fingerless pattern is also another new pattern for me. The wrist is the sock stitch and the hand is with the knit stitch for crochet. I am pretty pleased with my ability to watch netflix at the same time as crochet.

Butterflies

My work on the new pattern study found me trying some new things with it. Now that the pattern is learned perhaps there will be another shawl in my future. This pattern study is in the spider stitch family. Because the body of the critter is gathered after a few passes of the hook and yarn. It does look rather odd until the body is made. I love it though. There are other versions: pineapple, ladybug, dragonfly, the spider of course and this butterfly.

First I tried some washcloths with the butterfly pattern and then got down to business and made some others. Talking to my sister and all of her flood problems, she teased that it would take an awful lot of dishcloths to sop up all the expected water. Thank goodness for me I do not have a basement and I could spend the storm days teaching the dog a new game.

Find tug!

Honey did pretty good with the mud, water, snow, sleet, stay on the high ground path that I tried to teach her. Three days apparently is her limit to good behavior. Today when the sun came out after three days cooped up in the house, she looks like muddy moe! What a mess. As soon as the laundry is all done, I’ll find the towels and give her a bath. No more find tug-of-war rope toy today. At least until that dog is cleaned up.

Another prayer shawl

With no home yet for the previous prayer shalw, guilt sinks in as I picked out the next yarns. Keeping the creative juices flowing is a must though, right? So here are a few of the projects that have been keeping me busy.

Winter lost to spring in our neck of the woods. The flooding has been pretty devastating in our area. I have a sister and brothers in the blizzard zone for the week. My mother and other sister in the flood zone. And my poor son-in-law was stranded in no travel zone and unable to work for a whole day., Weather can wreck havoc on all kinds of plans. My friend in another flood area went with the flow to practice her kayak moves! Sometimes it is hard to find the humor in such a mess, but we must.

A few of my conversations have led to good news on my “After” project. I hope to get another post prepared on that line soon. For now keeping up with the yarn stash is my plan as I listen to others memoirs, books based on the authors own experiences. These types of books are given me lots of inspiration right now.

So much for our blizzard we just got rain, lots of rain.

Prepare for the worst and all that remains is mud. The day it was a blizzard for half my family I prepared for an early come home day with my husband. But all that it did here was rain. He did not come home early. The roast was done at two in the afternoon and so I ate supper then. On top of the miserable rain and flooding for so many, my cat hitched a ride with him to work and so he had to stop and pick her up before coming home. Silly girl. I don’t know if she’ll ever learn to stay away from the heat of the warm engine. She is such a “car-pet.” Bother the silly thing.

So far spring brings me a hand full of facial tissues. My nose is in deep rebellion to the change of seasons. Is everyone allergic to the season that they are born into? Mine is spring and sorrow proceeds my birthday by many fashions. Most of my depressed mood is a result of my oppressed immune system. I love spring. I hate mold, rainy mildewy, sniffly air. Kachoo! Winter gives way to spring once again.

Now for that shower for my mutt.