Another runner’s story

What kind of mean joke is this?

Today has been one of those “Stuck in a muck” kind of days. You know when there is a list of things to do, and no matter how hard you try distraction keeps winning. The small chores are all done and the big ones remain untouched. This is the third time I have sat in the office / library with a goal in mind- WRITE SOMETHING!

I tried keeping to my home pattern schedule. Chores, dishes, cleaning, pets, exercise, lists, reading, visits, coffee moments. Each time I tried to go write, I fell flat. Dead space, dry air, empty thoughts. Some days, and most Mondays are my day to recover from the weekend. And that is what I have been doing.

So I popped another new book in the Talking Book Library. It’s about a runner. What kind of sick joke is this? I am plagued by them. Does God not know how much I would rather be fit and happy, then puffing on a plastic flexy tube filled with medicine for my bronchial tubes. This is just mean. But rather than get angry at the lack of concidence in these stories I will try to look for the lesson outside of the stupid marathoners. Really what is the percentage of people that actually love running?

In my family from the parents to siblings and extended spouses, there are about fifty people total if we add up all of my husbands family, and my family. Of all those only five of these people that I know of talk about running, lobe running, or sign up for charitable running functions. That would 10%. Then if I add up those with breathing issues that prevent such stressful exercise, there are at least as many prevented fromactually running. Why should I get three books in a row about runners then.

Just a moment of diversion.

While I really enjoy a good long therapy walk, running has only entered my thoughts a few times. I just can not seem to keep breathing when everything in me is being pounded through my heels into the pavement. Forget the running thing. Walking, now that’s at least normal. For me. Not for my dog. She wants to run everywhere.

So i am listening to the story and find that most stories are marked by how the main character handles grief and loss. Well, I really don’t want to go down that road today. So for me I’ll keep handling the loss of my “abilities” due to my failing eyesight, by being a stuck in the muck. Sitting and crocheting seems to work for now.

And typing out my thoughts as fast as I think them still seems to work also.

The sun is trying to shine. I made it through another rainy miserable humid asthma day. No running here.

And so on and so forth

Jibber, jabber

“Iyee, iyee, yiy, aah, aahh, da, daiyee, aahh.” And that is how our little nine month old sings, or says Ee Iy Ee Iy Ooh. Or whatever it is she says. The joy we have while with her, drove Grumpah Opa to drive to her church last Sunday to surprise them all. And Lunch afterwards was fun too. Watching her push the protective hands away as she stands up to toys or sofa cushions is also a joy. She is trying to do it herself. Independence and ability is driving her want to move and grow. What a joy! (We no longer share her image with the world, for her security safety and well being.) This is our little grand-daughter’s attempt at all fours this week.

And so it is Friday once again. There really isn’t anything to write about. Some people talk about nothing longer than I can. But really, they usually repeat the same old stories. Jibber, jabber of a nine month old is pleasant, but the “and so on and so forth” of other conversations can be well, pleasantly ended.

It’s super cold again. Above the little black Fleece kitty sits on an old gate pole to warm himself. At times he seems a more pleasing option than the female that takes up our residence. Sometimes, choices are not always ours.

And so on with the cold. Vague remembrances come to mind of forecasts for a mild winter. With the frigid temperatures that we have had, this is not mild. While we have not had the several feet of snow that others experienced, there is still enough white stuff hear to qualify for “not that mild” in my book.

Facts are the best things to settle on. For me the thought process seems to be hard as the ice in the heated pet dish outside. So here are some facts.

Honey had a haircut.

She has never been to the professional salon in her one and a half yearsof life. We setit up the other day when we were up at my daughter’s house. She could drive her there and go get her. Honey came back so soft and girlie smelling. The next day she kept looking at me like “What else do you know? What other secrets do you have? Thanks, mom! I feel so good!” It was definitely a sense of wonderment.

My hubby dear caught his first winter cold. Just a touch of sinus inconvenience. So I have tried to make a few meals that are still in his “keto” food range. I do think he needs to pick up a few more carbs now and again, but that’s opinionated. I also have tried to eat less on the carb side and less on the fat thing though too. Moderation and watching the waistline are the main attractions to any food plan.

The cat almost has me ready to throw her outside again. She has managed to nibble one of my plants down to a stub again after it had nearly returned to whole. Of course eating spider plant means she has a tummy ache, so she cries constantly. Very annoying for a cat. Especially when I have figured out that the only time I even like her remotely is when she is purring on my lap. I have not enjoyed playing with her, when all the rest of the time is dealing with discipline issues. More toys-HA!

Today it is once again too cold to go play outside Honey. Sorry. But the haircut worked and she will sit with me on the sofa now. Do I fee a draft? Brrr- it is so cold!

Having a soft plush live puppy is nothing like a soft plush stuffed puppy. She won’t even eat all of her food in the monring, so much for stuffed. The kitten however stuffed acts like we are starving her. She will eat anything that she smells. Good thing the lotions have lids on them.

My crochet projects are all on the slow tract. The food I fix takes days to eat. The winter drags on into the near spring. The days can be long and strenuous. Every once in awhile someone surprises me with a phone call or text. Jibber, jabber and so on and so forth.

Ecclesiastes 2:11 (paraphrase) “then I looked on all that the works of my hands and it seemed all my labor was as if grasping for the wind”. All the crochet hook has caught is like pulling wind through loops of air and the vanity of my attempts to creat a thing disappears like the seeds of the cottonwood tree in the summer breeze. Ahh, maybe next week the projects will go better. Jab, jab, jibber, and so forth.

Eight Note Melody

Scaling mountains (or piles of snow)

My mother always yelled at me when I didn’t finish a tune, song, scale or melody. Ending on the seventh note of the scale then became fun for me. A way of passive aggression that get some rise or attention out of a busy mother with two toddlers. Playing piano was a relaxation technique for me. I played through the red solo book or hymn book skipping from song to song. Often not even finishing them to go on to another. I suppose she would say I was being ornery.

Getting my nine month old dog to scale the snow pile without biting me while I crawled up there was almost like scaling a mountain. For some reason she has decided that mittens are toys and simply won’t stop nipping at our mittens. Perhaps she thinks we are saying nippin’ instead of mitten. Oh, well, she will get old soon enough and the mittens won’t be on forever.

“For apart from him who can eat or who can have enjoyment?”

‭‭Ecclesiastes‬ ‭2:25‬ ‭ESV‬‬

The month is nearly gone and it took me long enough to catch up on my Bible reading for this month. This is the verse that seemed to stick in my memory for meditation the other day. Solomon’s contemplation of the vanity of life might seem rather depressing if you can’t find the little nuggets of wisdom in each chapter. Knowing that our table prayer has always given honor to the God who feeds us has been special through my life.

“To Him who has given these blessings, and thanks to the hands that prepared it Bless this food to our bodies use and us to His service.” “Thanks be to Him who has filled our table once again.” “Our Father, who has seen fit to feed us each and every meal. Thank you.”

Whatever your daily ritual is, considering that God gives both food and the enjoyment of food is wonderful. When I thought about my sister in her need of food and need of an appetite while suffering from the winter flu bug, I couldn’t help but making some yummy treats. It was great to hear her exclamations over the muffins and the canned apples that our mother had insisted on making while she was here last fall was rather enjoyable.

So this week might be the snowiest yet this winter. We’ve had two days of snowfall already and more to come tomorrow. I’m okay with waiting for the mud. It is February. But the older I get the longer the winter seems to be. Tomorrow, Honey and I will have to go climb some more piles while we can. When the wind takes a break from sculpting the snow, it is so picturesque, that had it not been so cold, I would have taken more pictures.

Anticipating the coming spring, can sometimes take the enjoyment out of the pretty landscape. So I have decided to ask God just for today’s appetite. The daily bread, the enjoyment of today!


Teach us to number our days

Anyone remember the year they were eighteen?  Not really.  I do remember it as the birthday that my mother forgot and that my dad gave me a birthday card with just his name on it.  Granted as the spring of my junior year in high school, I was rather busy and wasn’t home much that day.  But reminiscing about that year wasn’t my plan for this journal entry.

Follows seventeen of course. Eighteen that is, follows seventeen  Obviously.  But each year it seems many gather for the New Years celebrations as if just by chance the clock won’t keep ticking and the next number needs to be encouraged on it’s way.  I usually just go to bed.  God seems to be in control of numbers.  He’s got a whole book for then in the Bible!

Goals.  New Years goals.  Changing, rolling over a new leaf.  I usually do that.  Misplace them.  Then wonder what happened to the past twelve months.  Sometimes I recap them in a Charistmas letter.  That’s kind of fun.  Not this year.

Honey broke my nose.

I repeat.  Honey broke my nose.

One week ago while playing frisbee with her “hyper pet” red one, she jumped up and my nose collided with hers.  Not good.  

I didn’t talk to her for a whole day.  It hurt.

The only word she heard for two days straight was DOWN!

So since the glasses still hurt the noggin, the Christmas letters are still in the box, the letters have not been read by me, and there issn’t much that can be done without the spectacles.  

I’ve been cleaning house.apperently one can still see dirt without glasses on!

So while I sat crocheting a large hook afghan, I began making my New Years resolutions.  

The first was to write a blog each week. 52.  There are fifty two weeks in a year.  To date I have only written that many in the last two years.  This is a lofty goal for me.  But maybe they will be shorter.

There are other goals, but I don’t want to bore you.

For now, I will keep cleaning up my stashes of clutter.  I will continue to let my crooked nose grow back together.  And hopefully I haven’t just done a “Pinocchio” and lied about my plans for the year eighteen.