Tag: story telling

Code Name Message

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I recently came across some studies about the coded messages in Scripture through looking at the names in the genealogy lists. There are several available links on the web if you just search it. The Messianic Message encoded in the Genesis chapter five list of names was the first one that I looked at. Then there is Matthew chapter one and others. It’s kind of fun. So I thought, why not loopk up my own family heritage and their name meanings.

So the first task was to find all of my mother lineage or the matrilineal. Somehow I could only go back four generations. My great-great-grandma Helen was a school teacher in Nebraska. And I did not find any information on her mother or where she came from.

While sharing all the facts on the web, and putting myself out there in care of identity fraud scares me some. So I’ll do my best at encoding. Haha If you read my blog all the way through maybe there is something to be learned.

Beginning with Yvonne a derivative of Yew wood. What? The Yew wood evergreen tree in Europe is an enduring long lived tree of short stature. Yep, that’s me the shortest one in the family. While long lived is yet to be seen, endurance doesn’t seem as far fetched. When I was able to run track in junior high, I ran the last and longest leg of the relay. So for a short time I did have endurance in my running ability. But longevity in my ability to play piano has proved true. Even though I can no longer read the music, I am graced with new listening skills every year.

Recently listening to the songs of faith in relation to Holy week, I played “The Holy City” for the first time with no music. It was always so hard when I had to read the music and figure out all of the symphonic rhythms and such. I was quite pleased with myself for learning the new song and just have to work on the third verse yet some.

My middle name Annette means “God gives favor or grace.” And I think I already heard that before. My maiden name with all it’s connections to my father gets into being “high born” or “breeding stock.” Which is kind of funny when I think how important my Grandpa’s cows were to him. He had more pictures of his cows than any other thing. I like to think of the meaning more about the mercy God showed me in leading me to be born again through Christ. And finally my married name meaning scholar or scribe, brings me to realize yet again just how much writing means to me. God gives me endurance, grace, a higher calling to write what will matter to the next generation.

Llangernyw Yew Wood tree in Great Britain. Looked up history of oldest Yew tree and found this wikipedia link! Fun Facts!

Now to the matrilineal message God has given me. Helen who was a milliner means “bright and shining one.” I know that God is the true Light. Helen’s daughter Marie was a school teacher, homemaker, and mother. I wore her wedding dress at my own wedding. The delicate hand stitched roses were so pretty. Marie means “beloved.” And that’s truly how I felt that day and ever since. Marie’s daughter Mildred was her second daughter. Mildred means “gentle strength” and that is truly how I view my grandma. She was verbally abused as a child for being a girl instead of a boy and did not let that affect how she treated her five children or 18 grandchildren. My mother’s name Sharon means “a fertile, level plain.” I think of my mother as being the one who cultivated each of her children to accept the seeds of eternal life. When the whole message is put together I see God’s handwork in the message of love for me. God the bright shinng Light calls me His beloved, giving me strength and spiritual fertility in my soul for endurance.

The surname message is almost the same. Yahweh the Gracious God is faithful. More faithful than the rising sun, the Lord of the morning is Lord of the harvest. He who made the seed, plants the seed and harvests the seed gives life. God planted eternity within my heart. Born of the Spirit into a Higher calling to write and study His ways! Yes God is the gracious, faithful, morning star, planting and reaping the souls of hearts whom He has written eternity upon. I love that verse in Ecclesiates that says that. Ecclesiastes 3:11. “God has put eternity in man’s heart.”

Names do have meanings. And many people name their children sill alphabetical names without thinking of the future implications. Both my daughters were named after pretty flowers. So there’s that. I did not look up the grandmothers names on my paternal set. But I did do the full sentence of surname and first names.

Yahweh, the Bright and Shining is faithful to His beloved. The Warrior (Lord) of the morning is gentle and strong. The Reaper will sow an enduring forest! Another sentence says “The enduring words sown in the fertile soul will be a harvest. Like the strength of the morning sun overcoming the cold of night, God is gentle, faithful to His Beloved the Lord Yahweh shines life through every breath that I take.” There are so many ways that God speaks to us. Are we listening?

This week is Holy Week in the Christian calendar. The weather is giving us another roller coaster ride. One day we wear t-shirts and the next day dig out the winter coat again. Preparing for Easter for me will be cleaning up that first bed room again. And making a menu for my grocery man.

We got my mother moved back to assisted living after her rehab stay. That was exhausting. So much. Just plain much. I hope we can do some more to make her rooms more accessible in the next visit also. So perhaps that’s what I ought to be focusing on here also. It’s just so much easier to to sit and crochet.

Enough of my field entrance ramblings, the topic at hand is names. I took a look at the names of those mentioned in the Gospels who stayed with Christ beneath the cross. John 19:25, “Now there stood by the cross of Jesus His mother, and His mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Cleopas, and Mary Magdalene.” (Also His disciple John). Mary has three or more meanings. And there were three of them there, so Beloved, bitter, and rebellious all seem appropriate. Magdalene means woman from the high tower or watch tower. Yes, she did certainly watch her Lord until the end. Cleopas means “Glory of the Father”. And yes, that fits also as Jesus was the Glory of God come down to earth. John means God is gracious, or Yahweh is gracious. And yes the emblem of the cross has become synonymous with God’s grace. The interaction at eh foot of the cross between Jesus, John and His mother Mary has been repeated often. For in this directive, He commanded John to take care of His mother. It is an intensely private and special moment.

Perhaps it resonates so well with me after having watched three of our four parents enter into eternal rest over the last year. There were not a whole lot of commands or directives at the last moments. Except for my father-in-law’s statement “I’m not worried about tomorrow.” There was nothing else said that really sticks in my mind as a directive or command. Yet, I watched my husband taking care of my mother this past week or two in the same manner of love and care that he did with those who have gone before. We do what we can while we have them.

The generations that have gone before us are God’s message to us that He provided for us. The generations that come after us are those to whome we have the chance to write on the tablets of their hearts His grace and mercy. And another small bit of wisdom I heard this week: the meaning of our life is to find our God-given gifts and the purpose of our life is to give those gifts away.

Final thoughts on names. You might remember my name when you meet me. But there is one name that is far more improtant to know. Proverbs 30:4 says, “Who has ascended into heaven, or descended? Who has gathered the wind in His fists? who has bound the waters in a garment? Whao has established all he ends of the earth? What is His name, and what is His Son’s name, if you know?” Jesus means “savior of the world” and He gave His life away so that we might know Him. Do you know His name?

The Local Giants

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Winter games project

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

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

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

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

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

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

2026 Winter Olympics crochet shawl approximately 2 foot by 5 foot

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A lowly friend

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Duke of Cottonwood Place

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

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

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

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

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

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

Such in the left and Yinyang on the foundation leave hole

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Out of the Silence

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New book reviews and learning to reflect. While I have “read” nearly four or five books in the past few months, the book that I am doing right now is “Unlearning Silence.” (author Elaine Lin Hering)

Today as I listened about silencing personhood spirits, I thought of the verse from Jesus about murdering and killing with words. So many times we “joy kill” or “steal dreams” and how has this happened in my own life, or have I done this to others.

I have a few silencing stories to share that probably would make the other person cringe if they really knew what had happened or how I felt in the situation. One recently was while discussing allergy experience and taking the right anecdotes. I tried to tell about my learning as was silenced as if my knowledge was inferior and incomprehensible. I felt “idiotic”or “dumbed down” by the way I was responded to. It was a real turn off. Yep, I decided not to share my “knowledge” anymore. Even though I knew that I was right and my ER visit was more recent than the other person I was talking to.

Another time in my life I asked a friend for a ride to one of my daughter’s daytime recital hours, only to be refused with “Oh, I don’t think I can do that.” I was so hurt by the rejection, I really never asked this person for anything ever again. And while she still attempts friendliness, my heart has been guarded ever since that rejection and careful not to set myself up for pain. What kind of true friendship is that?

Another time of being “shushed” that really stepped on my toes was when a conversation between two women had a moment where I felt I could relate. I tried to say something about my father in a related sitiuation only to be literally “shushed” by one of the women. It was so painful. And knowing this relationship was in the season of “coffee hours” spend together, while I was in so much pain and loneliness missing the exact “time” and relational season. There were so many moments in that season where I was silenced by the individual, I had a lot of letting go and soul searching to do while I waited for the person to come back to even being “interested” in my caring, sharing and prayers.

Today’s exercise is all about breaking the silence, coming out of the isolation, and finding connections. One time about a year or so ago, someone actually told me “thank you” for sharing in my blogs about being blind and going blind. So here’s my frustration from just this week. My apologies for this being so real and sharp. If just one person hears this, it was worth saying.

Someone is probably not going to like this story of silencing at all, and that’s okay, because it’s my story to tell. When my husband and I were dating we used to go out to eat with a group of friends to a local Mexican restaurant and have a late night meal. While for the most part these memories are very fun and memorable, there is one night when things took a very hard turn. One of the participants in the group gave him a birthday present this first August that was the perfect silencing gift. Perhaps getting a can of WD40 spray oil is normal. Later on I asked what was meant by it. He did in all honesty not seem to mind that this “mean” person essentially told everyone there she could not stand that at times I would “squeak.” I was not aware of my laughter snort or squeak and it took me awhile to get the whole meaning behind this silencing. Funny how it really did set up the relationship over the next many years to be one in which I was inevitably “shut down” and being myself was never welcome around this person. It really saddens me to see that this practice has come full circle and the very person who gave him the oil can has been silenced by a health crisis.

Sunday we went to church and were a little late in arriving for the fellowship hour. The ladies table was full and the next table over was relatively empty when I entered. My husband did not get me coffee or find me a seat. I walked very slowly toward the coffee bar and there was a toddler standing in the center of the walking aisle. Thank goodness I saw the toddler. His sibling was sitting in the chair back turned and saw my interaction with the little guy. “That’s our baby!” She stated. I responded with, “well, he doesn’t look much like a baby ‘cause he’s standing up already!” Yeah, she said and went back to her snack. The little guy was not going to move, so I patted him on the head and walked past. No failing eyesight at that moment. Win. Next, I picked up my coffee and greeted my relative. She is hard of hearing now, so it was just a shoulder squeeze and a smile. Then it was time to decide about sitting. I chose a seven year old boy eating his snack alone. My chat with him was engaging and fun. Time to head to class the moment to connect was over.

My eyesight traps me in a little hallway sometimes. Like there is invisible walls on either side of me and seeing an open doorway to another individual most often times is missed. Sometimes I wonder just how many times someone has tried to engage me with a smile, a word not heard (I am also completely deaf in my left ear) and someone thinks that I am just rude. Really, I simply did not see.

I went to the doctor on Friday for my earaches. My allergies have arrived at the point where it feels like someone stuck a marble behind each ear. Pretty painful. The nurse leading me to the room said “we’ll turn right into this room“ while she gestured with her hand to go left. I actually caught the gesture and and then she said “I mean the other right-LEFT.” I laughed, and said it’s okay, I actually saw that gesture with your hand this time.

My eyesight got ahold of me yesterday and I tried to shut the door over my little granddaughter’s toes. I had not seen her there in the doorway when I came in. Rough moment. Her cry demanded my response and my apology, “I’m, sorry, Oma did not see you here in the door. It’s probably not the best place to be when someone is coming in and out. Will you forgive me for hurting your toe?” It was met with an “okay” and a sniffle. Bother for teaching these little one’s the hard way about my eyesight. I hate that I have to hurt them for them to understand.

The end of the book is not here yet. I guess I am a little slow if I only read for a half hour at a time. The book came from the State Library and while I intended to send it right back with the reader, and get set up on BARD on my phone, nothing has happened yet, so I’m still listening. Sometimes it is kind of like the radio, where it’s nice to have someone else pick the music. Maybe we will listen to something we’ve never heard before and actually enjoy it. Books are like that. I don’t always know what to pick. Like when we try to pick a movie on the watch app only to still be surfing the titles thirty minutes later. Recommendations are great!

While I am still attempting to listen and be correct in my speech this journal entry is now too long. So on I go into the next. Silence is deafening today as the wind is blowing a bit too much. The classic radio is going, the Bible is droning in the background, and I’m thinking about who I can call and suffer through a phone call with!

String of Flowers

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I remember the first time I learned to crochet a chain. Then I added the single crochet hooked stitch in between. What followed was the ability to make a string of flowers. My goodness have htings changed. Looking at the latest project (Wild Things/ thin flowers with ends) I realized that essentially it is a String of flowers. On a whole new level of course!

Wild Things Thin Flowers with ends by the crazy crochet cat lady. I call this one “The string of flower” Dierra style!

The grey background behind the pink florets has been a most challenging color scheme for my eyes. I should have picked a pink within the “light” shades instead of two medium tone colors. Oh, well, I am nearly done with it and another month for the border will find me entering the fair to get a purple ribbon. I sure hope my adopted grand daughter loves it. She is a first year college student.

The giving moment! Gifting the afghan to my adopted college student. It was so much fun.

This journal entry is for September and yes, I am delayed in entry. We already had the “give-away” day with Dierra. My poor hubby always wants to call her Deedra, because he knew a girl named that in hight school. She absolutely loved her “special order, custom made” afghan. It was the highlight of the month to finish the blanket and give it to her. The feeling of love and pride and happiness as she accepted my hugs and love for this one time complete stranger was incredible.

In May when I was shopping for yarn, this beautiful check out lady asked me waht I was doing with all that yarn. I said, “crochet.” “Oh, I love things crocheted!” She stated. Then, “do you ever take orders?’ Of course, I replied, I would love to take orders if I had any. We exchanged phone numbers.

And the rest is history… She and I had a few text messages in the next two months and she “ordered” her blanket. And I began praying for her. My heart is so full for having this experience of sharing my talent with a young lady that has such a beautiful heart and was not afraid to ask.

I am reminded of the verse in Matthew from the sermon on the Mount where Jesus says, “Ask and it shall be given to you.” I think often about Dierra and how God loves us more than I loved her. God knows us so much more completely than I could ever know her. God wants to give to us what we ask of Him, more than I could ever enjoy giving to her.

Thank you Dierra for giving me the chance to love and share and give what you asked for. Thank you Lord, for giving me Dierra and so many others to love and care for. Thank you Lord for giving me what I asked for: someone to crochet something beautiful for. I was so much fun!

Luke 6:38 “Give and it shall be given to you; good measure, pressed down, shaken together, and running over will be put into your bosom (heart). For with the same measure that you measure, it will be measured back to you.” The feeling of full heart is so amazing when we give something away.

My little grand daughter decided to walk after seeing another little girl in her home school coop toddler room walking. The other little girl was sharing toys and handing out this and that to other kids. Funny how that motivated her to want to walk and “give” things away! Indeed, she spent one hour while I was there one day finding the pieces of some little building toy (hash tag building blocks) and helping me make a cube. It’s great to give.

Now if I could just teach my dog to let go of his toy so I can toss it for him. He’s still a little stubborn about that.

How to watch a Zig zag…

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“If ya haven’t got something nice to say… don’t say nothing at all. “. Our pastor had such a nice idea for Mother’s Day, hand out some compliments. Every mother really just wants her children to get along, to not fight, and perhaps learn how to hand out a compliment while they use their manners at the table. Unfortunately some of the little slips of paper that hte children were to pass out, inadvertently had nothing on them. Therefore many of the lessons that we aim to teach whether as parents, as pastors during children’s sermons, or as employees often get bumbled up. So the age old lessons, if you haven’t got anything nice to say…don’t say anything at all.

I was blessed to sit in the back seat with my mom on the way back to her assisted living quarters. My husband says he is happy to chauffeur and it really does work better for us to sit together in the back of the “limosine” where we can hear each other better. Two hours interviewing my mother made the trip go so quickly. And now it I can just remember all of those answers to those many questions.

Old memories are thus made new, while we talk about her childhood and remember things from throughout the eight decades that she has lived. So many things seem completely out of touch to our daily lives today. Like the wire used to hold the chicken after the head is chopped off. And the fact that it was down by the outhouse next to the twin cottonwood trees. Gavin’s grandpa had rigged up some fancy tool to do the job. Just how many chickens did the family go through every summer. No one took a daily trip to the Cosco broasted chicken ovens back them.

Then just a day or so later, I was to help with the grand kids for the day, and was so tired, I actually fell asleep on the floor at their house. This going one day and home the next day finally caught up with me poorly and few days later. My “Asthma Awareness Month” of May has given me a few days this month in which I fought the asthma struggle very poorly. I pushed and pushed to do some things the one day and finally gave up after blacking out while trying to pull some weeds.

Watching a Zig zag is quite difficult if on eis blind. Pretty sure if I was in the “real” job description, I would be fired. But how does one communicate with a toddler that will not say what she needs? If the child is taught to listen to her body, she will not be able to tell it’s needs. Bother for the grand parenting when the Zig zags and does to tell there is a bend in the curve!

So that is the small child… what about the elderly? I spend two hours Sunday interviewing a great. Now how do I remember all of those things. While asking my mother, I remembered all of my mom-in-law’s answers. Oh, dear. How am I to remember which direction the Zig zagged? I mean now really. I did not take my tablet with and nother is written down. It’s time to get out the files. And I need to spend the next two cool hours outside planting such and such. Or my Zig won’t get enough sunshine to zag!

With all of the car time I logged a larksfoot prayer shawl.It was a trial and error crochet project and I took out the first attempt. Pretty happy with the end result.

And so while Mother’s Day was sad as we missed my husband’s mom for the first year, it was enjoyable a bit spending time with my mom. But the zig zag of paying attention to which parent next continues on. My dad had a mishap and now a broken femar has him in the hospital in need for full time nursing care. Sometimes it feels like during the parent season of life one nearly gets whiplash wondering which way the attention will be drawn next.

Shared my favorite Bible verse Hebrews 12:3 with my dad and talked about Jesus suffering. It was a good visit the day that we went to see him. Also talks about cousins and the boxing gloves. Story I had never heard before. Some things he did not want to talk about. (Music for example)

The wind tipped over the wishing well twice in just two days. It made me sad to see our wishes not being met. Haha. We did get it set up later.

Such enjoyment taken during the road trips of talk time with my daughter also. I feel so frustrated that my ride to and from the city to spend the day with grandkids, I am so tired. It is hard to give our best when we are exhausted. While the road bends and turns through this journey we call life, I’ll do my best to watch the Zig zag!