Tag: therapy walk

About My IF

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kona on the daybed after a fetch session.

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

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

Smoothing Out Wrinkles

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The evening after a day with the grand kids often has me ready to go straight home and find the bath tub for a good soak. There is a very good reason why one’s ability to bear children happens during youth. The energy drains much faster when the cup is only half full even at the beginning of the day. So my thought process about going to see the falls was rather surprising.

We live in a climate that often gives us four seasons in less than a weeks time. And averaging the moth into tempreature zones I often wonder what season it will be this week. Dressing for winter at 8 a.m., spring at noon, and summer at three in the afternoon is rather hard to accomplish if I am not going to be home. So I was rather glad that the weather stayed a bit cooler for the whole day. And we decided to go walk the falls and smell the acrid spray of water mist.

First daffodil bloom of the year. The day we cleaned all the huge cottonwood leaves off this flower bed the greeneay shot up three or four inches. Of course that night it was 32 degrees again.

Day after day the spring has wrapped up a dry fabric across the landscape. The grass at home seems nonexistent. Patches of dirt are just spreading out like burnt pieces of toast all across the acreage. the crunch beneath my feet makes me think I should not even be walking there. It was nice to walk on a sidewalk flanked by actual lawn the evenibg that we walked at the falls park.

Kona had his scheduled spa day at the doggie daycare. I thought sure he would be tired, but instead he seemed so wound up when we arrived home. Like we got someone else’s dog. Maybe he just gets the zoomees after daycare because he had to be in the crate napping so often. His energy level has been pretty consistent and I still love that he sleeps so well all night long.

Kona sporting his new haircut. Not really new just fresh, as he gets the same puppy cut every time.

The water falls were mild for this time of year. I think even the up river snow fall has been way below average. I was trying to remember the last time we got rain that was more than a spit. Last Jjune or July we may have received an half inch at one spirt.

A whole week later: And now it is the day after once again. I feel like my ability to focus on thought and writing has gone with the wind. The dust clouds scared the rain away once again. I spent the day with the kiddos yesterday. It’s been a whole week since my entry beginnings..

I tried picking up a book about Mycroft Holmes the brother of Sherlock Holmes. After finishing the “Complete Collection” I really should try a different route of thought. The book that I chose was so scatter brained. For lack of concentration I did fall asleep. So for that purpose, it worked. But it’s daytime that lacks for entertainment. And I really should not watch videos of the grand kids for hours on end.

This morning I got to thinking about my dearly departed mom-in-law again. Doing laundry, I was reminded about her love for ironing. Was she truly one of those “smooth out the wrinkles” kind of person? How often in our lives were we part of her attempt to make smooth the rough patches?

There are three small travel irons now taking up space in my house. Who uses such a thing? They are a testament to how many trips they took. Of course the were benevolence trips. Because of their proximity to sibling relationship, that’s how they went. Though some trips were taken on their own funds, many of the cruises and such were group outings. I think of the other siblings and how they must have felt about this trio of travelers. Is there jealousy wat fueled some of the wrinkles in the relationships?

Unfortunately, I can also think of ways in which there were road blocks put up. But because we are all in a trying to get along phase in life, perhaps it’s best to leave the road construction season to the history books and not turn back the pages that cause strife.

Blanket on the left is the Freyja pattern from a pattern designer that I follow. The yarn on the right is for the Wild Things / thin flowers continuous blanket throw for a high school senior. Both are mosaic crochet patterns

My yarn came for a commission project. First the Freyja blanket needs to be finished. I really do like it just not fancy about these colors, so it will likely be another give away!

And one last night on the mishaps of the blind, not lame, and not dumb. Last night my allergies reached their spring maximum. My sinus migraines are requiring every medicine that I can possible take for this pollenating tree season. So while I love spring and it’s blooming nature, I am quite miserable and hope that this writing and my crochet work does not reflect this wrinkled up dress shirt moment in my life!

Senior Moments: Kona’s Journal

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From last September until now seems like a decade. But really it has only been twelve months and a few weeks since this little black lap top came into my life. One year ago I was almost embarrassed to tell anyone that I got another dog. Why? Well, because I already had two at the time and another seemed excessive.

Yet, get Kona we did. We exchanged cash for him in the Burger King parking lot, only to find out that we both had driven farther than necessary. Kona was raised by a breeder just three and a half miles from our home. Ohm, well. We were pleased. And for the first time, I did not complain about the pain of riding in the vehicle as the seats simply do not fit my small frame.

And how did we get here? To this day of small black puppy sitting quietly on the lap while I type away… Okay, he actually has to sit next to me while I type. But as long as he has a bath every two weeks or so, he is content to sit next to me. Apparently it feels really good to be clean. No videos in the archives. He is simply too fast for me to catch after his zoomees from being clean.

September 29th just a few days after we brought him home, I began the lap training. It was time to stop bringing the cat in the house for a warm little body on the legs. And that bean bag that you put in the microwave always gets cold after a little while. Yes, Kona is much more effective as a lap warmer.

The other moments are rather hard for me to catch on film. I am just not good at photography anymore. Trying to catch the “moment” usually means I’ve missed the moment that meant to be captured! So most of the time I simply don’t try.

Winter moments of frigid outdoors did not seem so awful, when I knew that there was a warm up soon. Really, my blood pressure had been so low before the puppy, that I would often shiver uncontrollably after meals. I knew that I really needed to get moving more often. The other dog (doodle nightmare) only needed out three times a day and she often did not need supervision. So getting moving with a puppy seemed better for my physical needs.

That was winter, then came the spring. Honey got really sticky and naughty and decided she simply could not abide by our commands anymore. After nearly two months of “fighting” with her, I decided I simply was not willing to be someone that I was not. She must have been better at some point? No, all of my challenges and struggles day to day were definitely her pushing me over the edge of anger. I was done.

Spring rolled into summer and life became a little less stressful with only two “good boy” dogs around. We were so amazed at the peace that could be had in our lives.

While this little guy did present a few challenging moments, we learned that there is never enough socialization to be had. He presented us with some anxious crate dog prizes and also decided to be difficult in the potty training area. Why would he simply not just tell us? Uff day! Puppies can be so stubborn sometimes.

Summer rolled right into fall, and this year without the canning frenzy, I tried to pay more attention to the black mop. We made a couple of adjustments to his feeding. We were able to move from puppy food to adult food with a little moisture added to each feeding. Constipation is an issue for a puppy that does not exercise enough to actually drink a lot. Keeping the food a little wet has helped much.

We did not celebrate his gotcha day. Charlie’s “Gotcha Day” came and went with the farewell to Honey. So I guess we had two bummer family dog days. Kona’s Gotcha Day was when dad was in the hospital and we simply did not feel like specialty moments. Life was hanging in the balance and though the dog was enjoyable, people are so much more important.

While I have more than a dozen lap photos of Kona, these four seemed to spell it out the best. Life is full of seasons. Spring, summer, fall and winter we find memories that carry us into the next one. Sometimes the seasons are short like the puppy-hood. Other times fall seems way too short and winter much too long. Spiritually speaking seasons can go on much longer than we anticipate. Finding the moments worth savoring is what matters.

I am so thankful that my desire for a little lap munchkin was also part of getting me out of the chair more often. I need to get up and walk more. Even when I take Kona with me to my daughter’s house, or over to other places, it’s his need to go out that keeps me moving. I am glad for the excuse to get walking a little more. And I am perfectly fine with the fact that a Shih Tzu dog is a senior dog. I am an Oma-grandma four times now, and I guess that makes me well suited to own a dog best fit for seniors!

Truth Time from Kona: Just the other day these two old geezers missed my cue to go potty. I mean really, the music on the TV show was much too loud. So instead of listening to my huffs and puffs, they totally ignored me. So I told them. I went back tot he bedroom, jumped up on the bed and let it loose. Really what was I supposed to do? My bladder was about to blow up like a water balloon on a brick wall. Well, they did not like that, I guess. I’m back on the tether again. I don’t mind. Maybe they will listen next time.

Clear blue skies

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Getting past the weather

When the clear blue sky arrives in the mid-day, the hope is that it will stay all day. Days in which the weather is so beautiful that you cannot feel it. Whether I am cold, or hot, or the sun is full of glare or non-existent. Why do we preface so many conversations with the weather of the day? As if the weather was the catalyst for deep relational connections, we grasp at the clear blue sky.

What happens when there are no conversations that pass through the clearing? What happens when talk is shrouded with the clouds of unspoken feelings? How do I reconcile the loneliness and drudgery of daily life that has no conversation with others? The hermit life of acreage living has reached it’s desperate end. For one like me with no people interaction other than the radio or the reader of my book, the days seems as endless as the clear blue sky.

Quiet and peaceful has become empty and desolate. Becoming mum and numb to the loneliness has made me as relatable as a tree stump. So I have taken up the task of downsizing my belongings. Connections with others is all based on whether any of this junk of mine could become someone else’s treasure. What a bland weather day. The temperature is 55 degrees Fahrenheit and perfect for morning walking. It turns out to be 76 and quite pleasant most of the day.

So what is there to talk about when another hormone headache has me trying to drown it out with caffeine only to realize that’s not really the problem. The ibuprofen does not even work. Why did I have to be the sister that continues on with this visitor into my fifties? No one cares if I still disagree with my monthly guest. Not everyone gets to yank out body parts and end the cycle of hormonal havoc on my thought processes. Waking miles per day and week was suppose to help, I feel like a rotten host as I head out the door with my doodle. Running from my problems again. But it does not work. She reminds me that I really have no choice in the matter at all. What a beautiful shade of blue the sky is today.

In my readings through the past month I came across a quote that I liked. So I had to look of the quote and the owner just to find out more about him. Roger W. Babson was a twentieth century entrepreneur who died the year before I was born. He was the founder of several learning institutions. The one that gave me the most to chuckle about was Utopia University in Kansas. I immediately thought of the “wizard of oz” and his poor choice of this correlation. Then literally laughed aloud at the institutions failure and the quote that I had discovered.

“If things go wrong, do not go with them.”

Mr. Babson, I think I agree!

The clear blue sky often preludes the windy mid-day breezes. And my body being it’s sensitive self, does not care much for such gales. Walking against the stiff air often hurts both my skin and my eyes. By the time I return to the still air within the walls of the house, my nerves are on fire. So just because it looks like a beautiful day, looks can be deceiving. I check my weather app to make sure my cap will stay on to shade my eyes. I might be chasing away my own blues, but I am not chasing after my cap.

In the night not too many sleepless hours ago, this poem came to my thoughts while I lay counting the hours away. Insomnia might be another of my unwelcome guests during this time of life, but it will not win. Keeping my brain active with MP3 bible reading and prayer vigils has kept me sane. I think. So while things go wrong with my aging body, i refuse to let my brain go wrong with all those other things!

Wind Lends Wings

Wind lends wings

To seeds from trees

To flowers for bees

Wind lends wings

To cottonwood fuzz

To pollen, it does

Wind lends wings

To whispers in air

To secret love affair

Wind lends wings

To papers and caps

To smoke and ash

Wind lends wings

To aromas and smells

To fragrance that well

Stinging eyes and nose

Filling rooms and groves

Wind lends wings

To clouds and mist

To puppy’s flying disc

Wind lends wings

To leaves and wigs

To branches and twigs

Wind lends wings

To melody

To song

-pome written by Yvonne Annette, June 10, 2019

Just

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Dissolving stereotypes

Sometimes it is just as easy to walk four miles as it is to walk three and a half. The sweat begins to roll at two miles so just keep on plodding forward. The creek bottom to the south of us was full into the fields last night after another two and a half inches of rain. Listening to the water run on the descent down the hill was comforting. Listening to the water run out the sump pump hole at my sister’s the night before was so so bliss.

Rain can do wonders for the lilies in the garden. Rural water just does not have the same effect. It is almost like they know it’s just too hot to put on petals that will get beat up in the sun and wind. Then the cloudy days arrive and boom- the blossoms are abundant and gorgeous. Just when it seemed they needed a real drink, the showers gave them the extra boost to load up on flowers for the beholder.

Rain can also damage tender plants. Look at the flooded field and the stunted growth of the corn nearby. Too much water causes root rot, tomato blight, lettuce rust, and fig leaf mold. Just when taco salad sounded wonderful, two more inches of rain turned my salad plans to muddy green mush. Oh, well, maybe next time!

Where is the justice for the “just a”=s? Growing up in a small town, we had a lot of theses people that kept the community fed, clean, oiled, gassed up, and protected. There was a woman who was just a waitress that trained me in all the in’s and out’s to the cafe where I worked. My job at the cafe was a pretty good pass time until the gal that was just a mom came to work. Having had eight or nine children, her ability to multi-task was pretty evident. She soon took over the best hours and I become the care maid. Being just the maid at the local establishment had it’s perks too. Like visiting with my classmates grandparents over the coffee hour.

The man that was just a janitor retired one day. The man that took his place was just a bus driver until he took over the janitorial position at the school. This man’s wife soon though maybe she could be more than just-a-mom and tried life at the cafe the summer that I spent with my sister at the north end of the state. The owner soon had to let her go, when she noticed inventory disappearing for the lady’s family. Her summer job ended with the return of school, myself (for weekend cleanup), and position in the school lunch room. Maybe the school wouldn’t mind if she was a bit more than just-a-cook.

The lady that was such a good multi-talker eventually owned the cafe. Her husband was just the local oil man. While the farmers coop had a gas station and did much of oil and tire changes, this man had the oldest brick building gas stop. It was the first one. Not until I nearly graduated from high school did I get the difference between the two places. One was all republican and Methodist. The other was democrat farmers and catholic. But i wouldn’t say it was just a catholic indrustry on his corner. He actually had the benefit of being right next to the bank and across the street from the bar. You can guess that he didn’t spend his time loitering in the bank.

The fellow that was just-a-hired hand came into the cafe on a regular basis to see his lady-friend that was just -a-waitress. The farmer that put up the new dairy took half the man’s job away as the dairy man that first hired him sold all the cows to the new dairy. They sat at opposite ends of the restaurant for their coffee. One sat at the bar/counter, while the other sat at a table. A few minutes later the coffee crowd arrived in and all sat at a separate table. Each man had his usual.

There was a group of ladies that came in for coffee and pie once a week. They say near the wall. One of them was just a mom, wife, and checker at the local grocer’s store. The others had worked as teacher’s or other occupations until retirement. One of the gal’s lived in “just a trailer house.” She was a cousin to the guy that sold the cows. She was a sister-in-law to my best friend of the group. Her house was on the lot one block east of the house that I grew up in. While i delivered paper to my friend in the large two and half story house, and also to her cousin, I never thought of her as living in just a trailer house.

Being just a home- school mom … Really?

Just a pinky toe.

While walking recently, my old grandma feet have decided to play tic tac with my toes. Wo taping the curly ones is a new chore. While on my four mile this morning, thoughts of the pinko toe ran through my head. This poor little appendage takes the brunt of the blows way too often. How many others have found door wars, footstools, table legs, or lego towers with this little toe. Yet the little piggy takes the hits over and over. It has not left the job of hanging on to the corner of the foot. It has not considered the justice of this crashes and while it swells and aches for a day or tow, it does not quit. The job of the pinky toe continues on.

The janitor might clean toilets, floors, windows, and chairs day after day. But if you have ever broken a bone or had some other calamity that kept you from keeping house, it doesn’t take long to wish you could hire a maid. Some people hire all the dirty work done by some one wo is just a house keeper. I prefer to do it myself. Actually…

Now that the tasks that used to be easy for me become harder, I wish I was just a pinky toe. This little piggy cried wee-wee-wee all the way home from my four mile walk. There is not justice in taking the blow for the entire body. Yet that curled little digit does it day after day. Dissolving into a fit of giggles when someone touches it could be a completely different cry of “Whee! Whee! Whee!”

Maybe I can’t dissolve a stereotype in a cup of tea, but the whole point of being just a grandpa is rather ludicrous. There are now robot maids, robot lawn mowers, robot secretaries, and even robot radio/weather channel/ clock/ and encyclopedias. There is no intention on my part to throw out the echo dot machine in my home, but if I could erase the conception that there is no purpose to life outside of my role as mother, wife, gardener, housekeeper, maid, cook, butler, baker, candle stick maker, and all of the other jobs that I do. Well, I am trying hard to BE instead of being what I do.

Sometimes Joy makes me cry. Sometimes pain. Sometimes we laugh so hard we cry. Sometimes what we do makes us cry and sometimes what we can not do makes us cry. Tears on the face dissolve like mist after rain. Yes, like mist dissolves into the rain, just after the storm the sun shines again. Stereotypes that others hold can cause pain like a flooding rain. “Will the sun ever shine again?”

Not just a journal keeper, writing is not a chore to accomplish before the dishes are done. Every little toe has a reason for being where it sticks out at- not just like a sore thumb either.

Minimum Maintenance

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Road closed ahead

This morning we find the cooler air inviting. It invites us to attempt that four mile walk again. The other day we left the yard and headed north only to have Molasses follow us and have to return with a cat in tow. At one mile he was tired of running to catch us and began crying. The next two days it rained and we had to do stay home.

The air is cool and damp. I find a reflective vest for myself and stuff my fanny pack with treats and my inhaler. Honey dances and prances trying to tug on the leash and pull me her way. This is her way of saying “Hurry Up! I have been ready forever.” She is so happy to go with me. We head north again and feel the gentle breeze on our faces. Her nose is very busy. The atypical light breeze is so lovely.

There are only two vehicles before we turn to go east. They see my vest and slow way down. I think I’ll tell Gavin to get me a smaller one that fits better. This one is the vest he forgot to take off at work the day he was angry at a supervisor. It really needs to be washed. It smells like EDM oil and burned plastic.

Heading east we pass the cat-tail bottom. There are no cat tails yet. The frogs croak quite loudly at us. Honey smells an animal track. I tell her to leave it. The rest of this mile is uneventful. We pass the neighbor’s driveway and the hay field. The silence is so peaceful. The traffic on the interstate two miles further east echoes over the tops of our heads.

We arrive at the corner to head south. Honey doesn’t even have to be told to turn right. She just does it. There are some birds arguing on this mile. The meadowlark, the whipporwhirl, the chickadees, the sparrows, and the killdeer all sing their song of warning to us. I always love the sound of the bird who says “I’m over here- don’t look over there!” And other favorite cry is the “Pretty bird! Listen to me-me-me-me!”

The north to south route seems to take forever. I don’t know why it seems like such a long mile. Probably because there are no groves or driveways or any thing to break the space up. The only thing to notice on the mile is sounds and the last truck tracks.

My daughter helped me tape up my two toes that like to slide under the other. But on this mile my pinky on my right food decides to slide under also. The needles that poke me because of this hurt. I stop to do some stretches while Honey smells a track. She is enjoying the walk better than I am at this point.

We arrive at the minimum maintenance road. They have added a large warning “Road Closed.” I decide that we should have gone south and the been able to turn around rather than have to wade through the puddle. “Poodles and Doodles don’t like puddles,” I say. Honey ignores me and marches west right towards the sound of the running water.

Yep, this road is definitely minimally maintained. The two culverts are in desperate need of repair. No one lives on the road however, so it is not a priority. The five inches of rain have done a much damage to the road. There are holes and running water in five different places. Walking the road is okay so far. We just go around the holes. Well, I do. Honey goes right up to them and checks out the sound.

I am thankful the snapping turtle that my neighbor saw the other day has decided the road is not place for her today. That would not have been a good encounter. I didn’t see Any tracks of hers. We saw some small prints of coyote or fox. We also saw the deer tracks in the bottom on the south road. But I was more concerned with how deep the mud would be. As we pass the old abandoned acreage, I see ahead the bottom is indeed wet. Oh well. Tennis shoes wash.

Honey is most interested in the deer tracks. They are quite fresh. Within the hour, I tell her that it is the deer who was eating our plum tree. She wags her tail at me for talking to her. No worries though if the deer tracks are still in the puddle ahead, it should not be over my toes when we plod though it.

The water makes it’s way into my socks as we take on the puddle. I really hate wet feet. The mud does not affect my girl. She just keeps moving forward. I look back at the water and am surprised at how wet it looks from the opposite side. For sure we would have turned around if I had chosen to go south first from the home place rather than north.

When the minimum maintenance turns into a closed road, what path do you take? Would you plod though the water to get to other side? Would you turn around and go back the long way home? Honey and I chose the short route and just push through the mud puddle.

Miry blog.

Isn’t there a verse about that? My mind searches my memory bank all the last mile. We are back on the black top and must listen for vehicle sounds again. There is one semi-trailer to interrupt my searching thought. I am home, have fed the dog, petted the cat and drank another cup of coffee before I remember the passage.

Psalms 40: 2 says “He drew me up front he pit of destruction, out of the miry bog, and set me feet upon a rock, making my steps secure.” (ESV) The miry bog.

Miry bog. Miry. wow- who uses that word these days?

Miry

For a total of 20 steps there was miry bog. I will not focus on the trouble that rainwater gave to our path. The rest of the walk is so enjoyable. In spite of the wet socks and the muddy feet. I feel secure walking with my friend. She keeps me plodding forward when the road gets tough. But more than a good companion, the One who pulls me out of the pit is the Lord. His deliverance from the “muck and mire” of life is more like rocks that rise above the mire. His stepping stones through the the miry bog keep me secure.

My faith cannot be minimally maintained. I need these therapeutic walks every few days. Time to reflect and just be. While it is fun to look ahead and look back, being in the moment while I walk with Honey keeps me sane. She sees and smells and warns me of holes and puddles. The Lord is my steady road through all the muck and the mire of life.