I got a message from a neighbor yesterday...

I got a message from a neighbor yesterday... "Is that one of your little dogs constantly barking like in distress?" Me: day or night? and she answered "both". Yes, I'm afraid that IS one of my little dogs barking in "distress"... but not for the reasons you may think. You see, my little Ruby LOVES her blankies. She loves to be covered up, and has done this since we first got her, 6 years ago, as an adult rescue... Ruby will curl and circle under her chosen blankie, until she's cocooned like a little mummy. But 40 seconds after I cover her, she decides that she needs a drink... or to pee... or to grab a single bite of kibble. Then the whining and yipping for "help me get wrapped up again, Mom!!" starts all over again. And God forbid, if one of the other dogs have the nerve to lay on, or even touch "her" blanket, or if I have all her blankets in the wash at the same time. I can wash, dry and fold her blankets, but if I give her the wrong one... she'll yip and bark and whine and carry on like it's the end of the world, until she gets the one she absolutely "needs". Last nights yipping/barking brouhaha was because Dennis Hopper (the toad) was SITTING on her blanket, eyeing a cricket, and she wanted him gone immediately! I moved Dennis, but then Ruby decided that her blankie was now contaminated by toad cooties, and she wanted a nice fresh blanket. Yip yip, whine whine. No... not the clean red one, Mom... no, not the pink one either... "I only want the fuzzy green and white striped blankie right at this exact moment, but that might change in a few minutes." Once I covered her up correctly, she settled right down, with a huge sigh of contentment. But then 30 seconds later, she decided she needed a quick drink of water and to potty... *sigh* So the never ending cycle started all over again. It's caused arguments with Dan and I, always revolving around whose turn it is to cover little Ruby up again... Unfortunately, I usually have to deal with the graveyard shift because Dan can't hear her. But the neighbors can? I think I'm being manipulated on two fronts here...

Where does the time go?

 Seriously... where does it go?  I had every intention of blogging more regularly, especially now that I'm retired and don't have to try and fit precious "me time" into my day, anymore.  

But I guess like Robert Burns said,  

"The best laid plans of mice and men, often go awry."

Or maybe it's just a simple matter of finally living my life to suit myself, instead of letting life rule me.

Whatever it is, I know that I miss having this special, small amount of time to blog on a regular basis.  I'm going to try harder, and hopefully schedule some of the early morning hours, for spending time on here. I'm usually up at 4am or so, but the "at 'em" part sometimes takes a little longer to kick in.  Not that it's wasted time...

Oh no!  It's never wasted!

Sitting outside at 4am with a cup of coffee or two, enjoying the snugly company of our cats and dogs, listening to the wild birds waking up, and the Whippoorwills singing their final songs before their bedtime... all the while spending some much needed time with my Lord...  Well, it's the perfect way to start to my day.

But the rest of the day?  Pffft!  Who knows what happens to it?

Gardening, (it's going abysmally this year, due to what seems like never ending rain) planting native trees and plants all up and down the hillsides on the property, trying to fit in creek time, along with housework, trying new-to-me recipes or our old favorites...  well, it seems that the days just fly by.  

I really want to do this, so we'll see how it goes.

I've got a hankerin'...

Old Fashioned Stewed Taters

  
Seriously, is there anything more comforting than Stewed Potatoes?

If you were raised in the South or if you were just raised by a transplanted Southern Mama, you grew up eating stewed potatoes at least a couple of times a month, if not every week. 

 

And since my oldest sister Sue looved her some potatoes for dinner, we had  potatoes in just about any shape or form, for most meals.  I'm not real big on potatoes myself, but this recipe was definitely my favorite way to eat them. After I married, I had to ask my Mama how to make them, because my "then husband" kept asking for stewed taters, but we were always disappointed with the results.  

 

With this recipe, and with my Mama's patient help, I finally perfected her Old Fashioned Stewed Taters.

Ingredients

• 6-8 large potatoes (peeled and cubed, about 1-inch cubes)
• salt and pepper
• 2 tablespoons butter
• 2 tablespoons flour
• ½ cup water
• ½ cup milk
• 3 tablespoons butter

Instructions

1. Peel and cube the potatoes, put in a medium pot and fill with water until it's about 2 inches above potatoes.
2. Bring to a boil (just cook the potatoes until they're fork tender, but not falling apart.)
3. After the potatoes are done, keep them in the same water you cooked them in and reduce to a low heat. (or you can pour off most - but not all - of the water like I do, because I usually use added milk for extra richness)
4. Put the flour and half cup of milk in a measuring cup or bowl and blend with a whisk until the flour is dissolved.
5. Stirring constantly, but carefully, add the dissolved flour and water into the pot with the potatoes and water. Allow a few minutes to cook on simmer so that it can thicken.
6. Add more flour if you want it thicker, or a little more water or milk, if you want it thinner.
7. Add a good chunk of butter, some salt and pepper,  or you can use bacon grease instead of butter, if you like them that way. 
8. Season to taste, and enjoy!

 

Happy Birthday to my Etchy June...

   

I was sitting outside this morning with my first cup of coffee for the day, thinking of my youngest sister celebrating her 1st birthday in Heaven today. 

She would have / should have, been 63 today.

So I was talking to God like I always do in the early mornings, and I asked him to tell my sister Leslie, that I was thinking of her on her birthday. 

When we were little, I could never say "Leslie June", so the best I could do was call her 

"Etchy June".

 And "Etchy June" is what she remained to me, for all of her life - up until her death in May of last year.

Suddenly, I was treated to 7-10 beautiful Cardinals feeding right in front of me! (they were hard to count, because they kept kept hopping and moving around!) 

 If Cardinals are visitors from Heaven like the old-timers say, then I was truly blessed with a visit this morning!! Instead of gifting my baby sister Leslie on her birthday.... 

I think she was gifting me.

Happy Birthday to my baby sister...

Up The Holler

Up The Holler

After far too many days of freezing temperatures keeping me from going outside, we've finally warmed up today!  I think Dan said that we're up to almost 47° right now, which means it's warmed up 25 ° since I got up this morning!

It's lovely outside right now, so I decided to head  up the road across from our house, and do some exploring up the holler leading up to Miz Elizabeths old house up on the hill.

Nobody lives there anymore, because the house is falling apart, but it's one of my favorite places to just sit and soak up the peace and quiet, and the natural beauty.

I headed out without taking my gun, so I decided that I wouldn't go too far up the holler... because running into feral hogs is not the best way to start your day out right.

More than likely,  you'll end up finishing your day - permanently.

Hogs are not our friends.

Everything is still pretty bare up that way, but I find that it's breathtakingly beautiful, just the same.
Or maybe it's because of that
.
God's beauty is wondrous, isn't it?

 

We got this!

I've missed blogging.

  

I mean I've seriously missed it.

  

It was deeply satisfying to me, and it was "my" thing for so many years.

Some folks can do all sorts of lovely talented things.....  

they can knit or crochet up a storm... 

they cook wonderful things to eat... 

 they paint beautiful paintings...

 they putter in their gardens... 

 they can sew fantastic quilts 

Or they even make adorable tutu's for their piggies or chickens.

Me?

I always loved being able to put my thoughts down in writing.

And, on the plus side, it's somewhat more  "socially acceptable" to blog  random thoughts, 

 Rather than to be caught muttering to oneself.

In the wrong circumstance, that can be not only deeply embarrassing, but it does get one some funny looks, as well.

But if you're a blogger and you're caught muttering to yourself, you can just brightly say:

"Oh, I am  sooo sorry!   I was just trying to work out what I planned on writing about.  You know... on my BLOG.  I really didn't mean to be talking out loud".

And off they go, hopefully semi-convinced that you're you're simply an undiscovered aspiring writer...

And not just some complete nutter.

So, my dear friend Connie and I have now made a pact, that we will encourage one another to write, and that we'll both be more diligent about posting.

I'll do my best,  Connie.

Please head over and check her out at:

http://overgoodground.blogspot.com/

Do YOU blog, or do you have favorite blogs that you follow?

Please leave the names or links in the comments.

We can all use some encouragement, girlfriend.

 

Wordless Wednesday

Wordless Wednesday

The Girls are back in production mode!

For several months now, my chickens have been less than forthcoming, when it comes to 

"gOOgle production". 

(That's egg production, for you non chicken-obsessed folks.)

Between  them molting, and then the cold, cold weather, no one has seen the need to actually earn their keep around here.

We went months with no one laying, and quite frankly, I was getting sick and tired of cooking them a lovely warm breakfast...

 day after day ...   

and then getting nothing in return.

I was actually at the point to where I was printing out, and compiling tasty chicken recipes, and I even considered contacting Colonel Sanders for his secret recipe.

I was  just planning on just getting some new, more prolific, girls in the spring.

Oh, in the last few weeks, we have gotten an odd egg here or there, but never enough for breakfast for the two of us, and never with any regularity. 

So,  tonight.... as I was doing the washing up after dinner, I happened to look down at the chicken yard, because I heard them making a horrible cackling ruckus.... and I noticed that the door to the coop had blown closed.

Great.

They're probably all stuck outside their coop in this cold sleet and snow with no shelter, and they're probably half  frozen to death.

 I'm hearing their death throes - I'm sure of it.

I'm hearing them singing their final "swan song", so to speak.

.

 I sigh mightily... and tell myself that I had better go down and check on what kind of damage has been done.

So I bundle up in my heaviest jacket, my sturdy chook-poop-proof shoes, a scarf wound 'round and 'round  my nose and neck, and my thickest, warmest, and loveliest woolly red gloves.

Because I  really, really, don't want to feel their cold, stiff, lifeless little bodies with my un-gloved hands,  and they do deserve to be carried to their final resting place, with lovely woolly red gloves.

BUT... what a surprise!

They've redeemed themselves!

In spades!

We're down to 10 girls now,

(we had 11, until my sweet little Brehenda Lee went to that great "chicken coop in the sky" week before last)

 and out of the 10 girls we have left, we actually got 7 eggs today!

SEVEN!

You've heard of "lucky ducks"?

My girls have no idea, how close they actually were, to becoming  Colonel Sanders style chickens.

Now I'm thinking that we might have a lovely Spinach and Swiss cheese Quiche for dinner tomorrow night.

I'll cancel the call to Colonel Sanders...

Signs of Spring

  I see signs of spring!

Yes, the signs of spring are out there, even though we're currently being threatened with temperatures in the mid to high teens, as well as the possibility of snow, in just the next few days.

To that, I say ...

Fiddlesticks!

 

I guess that the burgeoning beauty  that I came across, in today's rambling around our property, will have to keep my heart and mind focused on the good times yet to come.  

If I can convince my old, cold, aching joints and body to take heed, anyway.

Our new peach trees are beginning to bud out, and so are the many blueberry bushes that we planted 

"top-side" last year... and I just hope they can survive this latest "snow threat".  

And my daffodils that are naturalized all over the hillsides?  I went out to check the biggest area of them today - the hillside just off the lower driveway, and the area closest to the house  - and just look at what I found!

 

I guess my husband decided that the old, crumbling, full of nails plywood and particle board from replacing the garage roof last year.  would work as a real good  "weed deterrent".

  

This area is usually just jam-packed with decades and decades worth of naturalized daffodils  -  and  all sorts of varieties. too...

 So, I can see that I'm going to have to get out there very shortly, and get that nasty eyesore of a "weed deterrent" removed as soon as possible!

    

I just can't understand his reasoning... can you?

"Weeds are unsightly, dear - so let's just throw down a bunch of nasty old disintegrating  rusty nail filled plywood on that hillside, so we won't have to see the weeds anymore , and we'll ruin the view, in one fell swoop!"

And I also guess that this means that I don't get out of the house or off the property. often enough, either.

Now this is only 20 or so feet from the road that runs past our house, and I'm just now seeing it?

Lawd have mercy on me...

 and I sincerely apologize to any and all of the neighbors who have driven past, wondering "what the heck are those new folks doing??"

I did manage to get some other photos taken of  one of the peach trees and the blueberry bushes starting to bloom, 

(the ones closest to the house anyway , because we planted a bunch of trees last summer and  fall) 

I'm not sure if  it was because it's so danged cold out there,  or maybe because I was so frazzled by seeing that "messy eyesore"...

 but my hands were shaking, as I was trying to focus the camera, and they're probably blurry, or out of focus.

Let's go see,  shall we?

AHA!  They did turn out!

This is one of the 2 peach trees that we planted up top here, last year..

Just look at that tiny little peach tree leaf, trying it's best, to unfurl!

It makes me feel joyful!

And this.... this is one of the 4 or 5 blueberry bushes that we've planted in the front yard...  

   

And look here!....I still have some Daffodils!

  

It may still be bitterly cold out there, but things are starting to wake up all around us...

And they give me hope of warmer days to come!

 “The flowers of late winter and early spring occupy places in our hearts well out of proportion to their size.”
  ~ Gertrude S. Wister ~

It's time for winter to be over...

 

It's time for the winter of my discontent, to be over...

And no... I'm not just talking "actual" winter, although this cold and dreary, record setting rainfall winter we're dealing with in an all too true actual physical sense here in North Georgia, can leave any old time it wants.

Right now,  I'm talking metaphorical winter.

My "Blogging" winter. 

I've had enough of this hunkering down, pulling my head in, and waiting for signs of spring that probably won't happen unless I force it to happen.

It's high time to take the proverbial bull by the horns, 

and to start dealing with getting back to something that has always meant a lot to me. 

I miss writing.

Excuses, excuses... 

yeah, I've got 'em.

I don't have time.

I have all these animals to deal with.

And that's not even  talking about the never-ending physical and emotional dramas of living with a husband with type 2 diabetes.

(A man who simply thinks he can eat anything he danged well pleases - because "it's only a few bites".

 So every day 

- every stinkin' day -  

is nothing more than a 

win-some-lose-some, balancing act.

And I'm not even going to mention face book right now.

Although somehow, and against my better judgement,

  I have allowed it to become my "go to" place on most days.

Mostly because it's quick and easy.

But easy, isn't always best - and I know in my heart, that I need something more than mindless 

and quick and easy interaction.

Somehow, for reasons that don't  really stand up to actual reasoning...

 my life has become focused solely,  regrettably, and only, on animals and a husband and face book. 

And somewhere along the way, I've lost track of "me".

I've stopped doing the things that bring "me" joy.

Spring is in the air, and come heck or high water...

It's time for me to bloom again.

I want to BLOG again!

I need to hold myself accountable for bringing the joy of writing back into my life...

And... if you know me - personally or just on face book - it would be helpful to me,  if those friends who know me, would hold me accountable too.

I'm married... so I'm quite used to the nagging, believe you me!

.

Poke me. 

Prod me.

Whisper in my ear.

  

I don't care what you feel like doing, but  I sure could use some encouragement.

I need to bloom again.

My "AHA" moment.

And it only took me 5 years....

You see, my husband has no sense of smell.
Zero.  Nada.  Zilch. 

So when I say "honey, it's been so hot and humid... the garbage can in the kitchen smells nasty, so could you change it for me, while I finish doing the laundry?"

I get: "I don't smell anything... I think it can last another few days"...

 and he doesn't touch it.

When I say "Honey, Frankie's cat box needs changing - can you do it for me, while I cook supper?" 

I get:  "I can't smell it, I think it can last another day or so."

Even though you can see "kitty tootsies rolls" right on top!

When I say "Babe, your  Levi's smell like manky old grease and oil, snot and blood and whatever else you've wiped on them this week... why don't you throw them in the hamper so that I can wash them?"

I get:   I can't smell a thing. And besides, I don't want to waste water.

  

And he'll wear them for another week.  
(but he'll shower every night and change his t-shirt daily, because he says it smells of perspiration.  Go figure.)

In the middle of the night, when I say, " Honey,I smell a skunk, and the dogs are carrying on like we've been invaded... could you go look?"

I get:  "I don't smell anything.  You KNOW I have no sense of smell" 

.... and he'll roll over, go back to sleep and leave me to deal with it .

So tonight, when he asks what's for supper, I'm just going to say...

I'm not hungry.  I think it can wait until tomorrow.

Losing Our Deliverance

Losing our Deliverance

The accepted meaning of "deliverance" is:
 "the action of being set free.

Freedom."

To me?

That means that the tried and true things that have always defined us as a people, and as a nation, will keep us on the right track.  

We create our own deliverance.

And yes, I do agree that not all things in the past were perfect, but to tell you the truth, most of "who we are" got us through, for generation after generation after generation...

 and in my humble opinion, we're the better for it. 

I grew up knowing (or knowing of) my great grandparents, as well as my grandparents - all 3 sets of them. 

(my Dad's first wife died in childbirth, along with his only son -
and he eventually married my Mama 5 years later.)
But we "kept" his first in-laws, Grandma and Grandpa Clifton as "Grandparents"  

Then we had Daddy's parents - Grandma And Grandpa Simcox, and my Mama's mother - our Nana Wainscott.
 
Grandpa Wainscott was a bit of a scoundrel, and unfortunately - or fortunately, depending on how you look at it - he was in prison for most of my growing up years, but I still heard stories of his running with the likes of Pretty Boy Floyd, as well as robbing trains as a way to help support his family.  A family that he pretty much abused and to tell you the truth, I never really heard anything "nice" about the man, other than he kept a roof over his family's heads, until he went to prison anyway.

But I digress...

Back in those years, people worked hard for what they got.  They served in the Civil War, World War1 and World War2, the Korean War, etc.  They knew strife, and they knew hardship

  My Mama became a "butcherette" (which was what they called a female butcher back in those days) during the World War2 because most able bodied men were off fighting overseas in Europe.  My Daddy fought in World War2, and he was transferred off the USS Arizona just days before Pearl Harbor.  He then served on the USS Chester until the end of the war.

Money was tight, and there were hardships aplenty back in those days.
Families that were having a hard time getting by, were given something called "relief" during those hard years, as a way to keep food on the table, because the money you earned from working, sometimes just wasn't enough, and food was rationed to help support the ward effort.

And no one was proud to be on "relief" either.
People took pride in supporting their families, and when you couldn't...  well,  you had friends or family who were willing to give you a helping hand, or there was "relief" from the government, that would help fill the gaps, until you could get back on your feet
.
And they always did get back on their feet.
By hard work, and determination.

Then we - the Baby Boomers, came along after World War2, and life became a lot easier for most of our elders. 
As well as for us.

  Jobs were plentiful.
People were buying new houses, new cars, and enjoying unheard of luxuries for the first time ever, because the economy was booming.

And even though we now had access to material things that would have amazed our ancestors, we were still instilled with a work ethic.
If you wanted something?
Then you were encouraged to go out and earn it.
That bicycle, Barbie doll, Hula hoop, matinee movie tickets etc that we wanted, had to be earned, because it was never just given to us.
So we had chores.

Usually, the big ticket items like bicycles, and roller skates were received as birthday or Christmas gifts,  but by doing our chores (dusting, vacuuming, dishes, making our beds, weeding the yard, feeding the animals, babysitting siblings and the like) we usually ended up receiving a portion of the things that we wanted.
Or the things that we were absolutely convinced that we would die without having, anyway.

We earned them, by virtue of working for them.
And if we didn't... well, to tell you the truth, no one actually died.

But somewhere along the way, we lost that work ethic.
We lost our pride and determination to better ourselves, step up to the plate and take our own swing at life...

And somehow, someway, we eventually became dependent on others, or we expected the government to take care of us.

From the "Greatest Generation" to Baby Boomers, to Generation X, we've moved on to the Millennial's and now the post Millennial generation.
And we've gone from knuckling down and doing it the hard way, to somehow embracing and celebrating the welfare system... which has eventually led some folks to feeling entitled to have what everyone else has.

Free healthcare.
Free college.
Free contraception.
Free abortion on demand.
Free phones.

And they always have an excuse.

I need this.
I can't survive without this.
It's not fair that I should have to work my ass off to get what everyone else already has.
If they cut my EBT, I'll have to do without my favorite foods!
I have to have a cell phone!!!
Cloth diapers?  Oh heck no!!! I'll only use disposables, even if I'm dependent on someone else to help pay for them!
And what about Starbucks?  I can't function without my Starbucks!

Okay, I'll admit, I've listed some "gross generalities" there. 
But I'll bet most of you will understand what I'm saying.

When I was growing up, us getting to have McDonald's for dinner was an exciting "treat".
 Seriously. 
It was a treat!!
 We got it as something special once in a while, or maybe even a couple of times a year. 
It wasn't expected, no matter how much we may have desired to have it more often.

That's just the way it was... and if we begged or pouted for something?
All we managed to do was guarantee that we wouldn't be seeing it any time soon.
And then your brother or sister would whoop you when Mom wasn't looking, because you had just ruined it for everyone else.
I got my share of whoopin's from my sisters at times, believe you me!
And sometimes, I gave as good as I got.

Families sat at the dinner table almost every night, and we talked about our day.
We talked about what happened at school or work, who we played with, or what we wanted to do after dinner.
( which usually meant we wanted to play outside with our friends until the streetlights came on.)

Everyone in the family knew what page they were on, and where they stood... and they all knew what was expected of them.

 When a sister or brother got to the point of being able to get their drivers permits or licenses, or when they graduated from high school, and got jobs or went on to college,  it gave us younger kids the incentive to strive to do the same things.

We knew.... or thought we knew... what we wanted to be when we grew up. 
We wanted to be doctors or nurses, accountants or lawyers, work in a bank, or be a clerk in a department store.  Fireman, policeman, a surfer dude, or a wife or Mommy...
 Our options were endless.

Sometimes, our dream jobs eluded us, and we ended up with jobs that had never entered our heads when we were younger, or we ended up doing jobs that we didn't really like.
But they were the means to an end, and we just knuckled down and did them without whining! 
Babysitting, ironing for the neighbors, mowing the neighbors grass...
  We all did it.

My first "outside the house" job was as a telemarketer, when I was about 16 or 17, selling magazine subscriptions.  I hated it, and I sure as heck wasn't very good at it... but it brought in a paycheck.  And that paycheck - as minuscule as it was - helped pay for my first car... and a killer pair of Go-Go boots.

As far as I know, almost all of the kids I went to school with, eventually prospered at something.
Except for the ones who died in Vietnam.
But we ALL did our duty.

And we not only showed respect for,  but we also paid homage to our prior generations.
Disrespecting, or talking back to our elders was simply unheard of - and if you rolled your eyes? 
Oh man... your parents would usually give you something that would really make your eyes roll!


There are times when I look back at what we had for so many generations before us...
and my heart just hurts.
 
We gained so much in such a short time, that we've lost just about everything.
 

It's a slippery slope

 

Things have (mostly) settled down for us, since our move to Georgia in mid- 2016.  Even though with one thing or another, it took us much longer than expected.  Mainly, because I suffered a debilitating knee injury a few months after moving - resulting in a heck of a lot of things falling by the wayside. The main one being unpacking.  I did get a lot of "immediately necessary" things unpacked, like clothes and foodstuffs etc., but a lot of the "bonus items" like my trusty Yaktrax and  some of my favorite kitchen pretties, have yet to be found.
And man, let me tell you.... I needed those Yaktrax in the worst way, a few days back!

I may still be missing so much of my stuff.... but I do have chickens again!  Our current flock consists of 7 beautiful girls, and a cranky but lovable rooster, and oh the joy they bring me!  I could literally sit out by their chicken yard and just watch them acting all chicken-y for hours every day.... in spite of our current "well below freezing" temps!  I have to admit that at this time of year, feeding, watering, and letting them out of the coop first thing in the morning isn't my favorite thing to do... but it's all so worth it, when they decide to come outside for a little visit and natter with me, before starting their day! 
 Or maybe with them, it's just about the meal-worms.  I dunno...
 
My watching, and learning their rhythm as they go about their day, has shown me my own rhythm.  Some things are important on a daily basis, and some things simply aren't.

Nowadays, most mornings start out  with me cooking them a warm breakfast of oatmeal and greens, and of course their water is changed out daily, or as often as needed - especially since the freezing temps now turns their water bowl into a solid block of ice within a few hours.

So... mid-afternoon, two days ago, I grabbed a fresh water bowl and a jug of water and headed down the steep driveway on my way to replenish their water... and just to spend some time watching them.  We had had some light powdery snow for a few days, but it had mostly all melted off, so I didn't think twice about the condition of the cement on the driveway.
  
But I should have.
  
About halfway down the driveway, I slipped on a patch of ice, and proceeded to slide downhill for the next 15-20 feet.  I dropped the water jug as I tried (and failed) to break my fall, and it went spinning and sliding downhill faster than I did - and somehow it stopped by the garage door, ending up in a upright position.
  
Now, all I could think of as I got closer and closer to that bottle of water, was that this felt like a human game of bowling, and I was about to steeee-rike!

As I laid there halfway down that slippery slope, one car driving past the house slowed down, and then honked before continuing on their way.  Another stopped, and asked me if I was okay, and being the polite person that I am, I laid there on the ice, and said "oh, yes I'm fine, but thank you for stopping".... and off they drove.  Once they were gone, I continued to lay there, freezing my arse off... but since I was on a slope, and everything was iced over, I had no way to get back up on my own.
   
So I proceeded to bellow for my husband.
  
Time, after time, after time.  

I was making enough noise bellowing for my husband, that the young girl who lives on the other side of our creek (about an acre or so away) came out and yelled up the hill at me, asking if I was alright.  Still in my "nice girl polite-mode", I again said "yes - I'm fine, but thank you!".  

But my husband - who was no more than 50 feet away inside the house, heard nothing.  No cars stopping, or slowing down, no horn honking... no yelled conversations from either the driver of the the truck who stopped, or the girl across the creek.  Nothing... Nada.... Zip!

So at this point, figuring that no familial help is forthcoming, and knowing that I can not get to a standing position on my own... my next move was to do an "elephant seal maneuver" and flop across the ice until I reached the grass.
  
And that worked.

It was probably as unsightly and ridiculous looking as could be... but I finally managed to crawl back UP the driveway, by using the frozen grass at the edge of the driveway as a handhold.    Once I got to somewhat more level ground, I managed to stand upright, and I limped back into the house.  Limping, because even though I had landed HARD on my left side, my right ankle was the only thing that hurt - and it hurt bad!!   
At that point, anyway.
 By the next day, I felt (and looked) like I had been beat all over with a baseball bat, but I was thankful that no real damage had been done.
To anything other than my pride, that is. 

And you know what my husbands reaction was, when I came inside, limping and crying and dramatically telling him about my fall?  
The first words out of his mouth were "why weren't you wearing your Yax Trax? 

I may never find my old Yaktrax, but you can bet your bottom dollar, that I now have a new pair saved on my wish-list!! 
  

 

I found the Joy in Christmas again.

This Christmas, I've discovered something about myself - and Christmas itself - that I never realized before.

Or if I did, I had forgotten it.

You see, as a child growing up, my parents always made our Christmas's magical.  Gifts, and warmth, beautiful meals and the traditions that we were brought up with, always left me feeling grounded and secure.

I was Blessed.

Then I had my own children... and I continued the same traditions that I had grown up with, with  my children... as well as  adding a few of my own.

Like a Happy Birthday Jesus cake, so that my children would always remember the true reason for the season. 

 As well as gifting others, who perhaps weren't as fortunate as we were.

 Some of the presents that I would buy from  their Dad and I, were wrapped and put under the tree a week or so before Christmas day, and my children would then pick one of their own wrapped gifts to give away.

  

They didn't know what was in the wrapped gift that they chose, so it was always a surprise as to what they had received... until they unwrapped it.  

And the gift that they chose, would then be matched with a child who had a star on the Christmas tree at the department store.

I will always remember my youngest son Jake choosing a present,  unwrapping it, and being so excited that it was the super-hero watch that he had been asking for, for months on end.  

And when I reminded him that this was the gift that he had chosen to give to someone else, he looked at me, with his little eyes shining, and he said

"Yes, but oh Mama, some little boy is going to be so so so happy with his new watch!"

No tears, no unhappiness... 

just absolute joy on his face, knowing that he and that watch would be making some other child happy.

And that right there, was when I knew, I was doing the whole "mom thing" right.

Gifts and warmth, beautiful meals, togetherness  and traditions have always been the mainstay of my life.

But things change.  

 Life changes.

 Situations change, 

And so did my needs - and my reasons - to maintain what I had known for so many years.

I now have 2 children in Heaven, celebrating the birth of our Savior with our Savior. 

And I have another child who has been estranged from me for years now.

I miss them.

So when I married Dan, I was so very blessed that he came complete with 3 children, as well as numerous grandchildren...

 and they filled  some of that emptiness in my heart. 

But they're all mostly grown now, and one granddaughter even has a sweet little baby of her own, who will be celebrating her first Christmas this year.  

Sadly, for the family, our great-granddaughters daddy

 died almost a year ago, and well and truly before she was even born.  So naturally, her other set of grandparents are happy and grateful that a part of their son and brother exists in our Little Bean...

  I'm so happy that she will get to spend these hard to get through holidays with them, and that she will hopefully rekindle some small spark of  joy in their hearts, in spite of their loss.

And I understand their needs completely. 

 I have to admit that I was a little sad that we would miss out on her first Christmas, but then I stopped and remembered the real reason that we celebrate Christmas.  

The only reason is Christs birth.  

And inexplicably, I felt complete and utter peace.

So, with no one but us to fuss over,

 no one but us to cook for,  

 and with no little ones, to delight in the decorations... 

We've returned to the true, real and most simple meaning of Christmas.

 ~ Christs birth ~

This year, we're focusing on the actual reason for the season.

And I hope it always remains this way.

For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. ~ Luke 2:11

Don't talk to me before my morning coffee

I may wake up, get out of bed and move around the house in the very early morning, but my brain doesn't fully "engage" until I have a few cups of coffee in me.  So please don't talk to me until I'm capable of processing human speech.

I have told my other half this, time after time after time.

So what does he do this morning?

It's 5:07am, and I'm just exiting the ermm... ladies room, and I'm on my way to get my first cup of coffee... when my other half walks in.
And he then proceeds to tell me that he thinks that one of the cats peed on his toothbrush in the shower, some time yesterday.

I don't know if I actually responded to him or not (because my brain was not engaged yet, due to having no coffee in me and all...) but all I could think of was "well, ask the cats which one took a shower last, because I certainly can't remember."

And until I had 2 full cups of coffee in me,  I  actually stressed over which cat was the last to take a shower - which one was tall enough to reach the shower shelf to pee on it - and I wondered if they had hung their towel up or not.

No joke.
Don't talk to me before I'm fully awake.
It messes up my day.

I am a ceraunophile.

I love thunderstorms. 

 The whisper and wailing of the wind, the boom and crack of the thunder, the lightning that suddenly, shockingly, lights up the night sky.  

Leaving me blinded for a moment, before it fades away...

 only to come again.

Because sometimes in this mundane, boringly safe life... it's good to be reminded that not everything is perfect.

Not all good and excellent things are quiet and gentle.

That sometimes chaos and cacophony are not only a part of life,

but they are needed, as well.

A good thunderstorm is soothing to my soul, and it acts as a balm to my spirit.

Especially at night. 

 When it feels as if I'm all alone in the world, while my husband and the rest of the world are sleeping.

 While most sane people are tucked safely up in their beds, snuggled down warmly in their bed-covers;

 for me to be out on the porch, watching the wind and rain through sudden bright flashes of lightning... 

It's heavenly.

To hear and see and feel all that power and glory and to feel that it's mine alone to experience, is such a wondrous thing.

 I will never get tired of the night sky.

Of  rolling, booming thunder shaking the very ground beneath me, while the lightning illuminates the dark world in short, quick bursts of light. 

 Of watching the rain come down so hard, that mud erupts from the ground like dancing effervescent sprites.

I feel sympathy for the small wild creatures of the night, who need to hide themselves away from this dangerous storm, but I also feel envy... that they are right there in the thick of it.

I am a ceraunophile.