I Love To Go A Gardening
Growing Our Life in Northern Michigan
Within The Silent Chambers
“Some of the greatest battles will be fought within the silent chambers of your own soul.”
~ Unknown
It seems as if these days, especially in the last few years, we’ve heard a lot about people being emotionally “triggered.” I’m not a psychologist, but I’ve been thinking about this and have decided to write about what I believe triggering is, isn’t, and how to deal with it.
Basically, a trigger is something that elicits a strong memory. ANYTHING can trigger a memory–situations, places, things, smells, songs, phrases, sounds, motions, movies, holidays, foods, and the list goes on.
Everyone has memories triggered every day. Some things can trigger nice memories: The smell of baking bread can trigger a memory of Grandma baking bread. Seeing fireflies can trigger childhood memories of chasing them on summer evenings. Holding a newborn child can trigger memories of holding your own newborn. Some things can trigger negative memories that make you cringe, wince, sad, or feel regret. Everyone’s triggers can be different and something that triggers a good memory for one person can trigger an unpleasant memory for someone else.
Usually when people talk of “being triggered,” they are referring to something triggering memories of a terrifying event, causing flashbacks, nightmares, depression, and/or severe anxiety. Most people think of this in relation to veterans with PTSD. EJ once worked with a veteran who went right from war to working in their noisy factory. The veteran dropped to the floor every time there was a loud bang. In war, dropping to the ground could have saved his life. In the factory, there was no real threat so dropping to the floor was unnecessary, but the loud noises triggered an intense memory that caused his body to react. Triggers are different from true threats. Non-threatening situations can trigger a traumatic memory that causes an autonomic, involuntary, fight-or-flight response. The veteran EJ worked with started wearing a helmet to work, no doubt hoping it would make him feel safe. However, he soon quit because the PTSD was too intense for him to handle at the time.
Soldiers are not the only ones who suffer from PTSD. Victims of abuse, crime, or terrorism, people who were involved in severe accidents, and many others can suffer from it. Our veteran nephew once quoted that “PTSD is a normal response to an abnormal situation.”
Some people are genuinely triggered by trauma but it seems as if EVERYONE these days claims to be a triggered victim. It’s gone to such ridiculous levels that they have meltdowns if someone uses a word they don’t like, or has a different belief, or eats different food, or their school has a mascot they don’t like…It’s gotten to the point where a person can’t even breathe without someone being “triggered.” People who falsely claim to be triggered hurt those who genuinely are because others get so tired of hearing them that they stop listening to people who really are victims. It seems to me that false victims are much like toddlers who throw a tantrum in a store because Mommy didn’t give them what they wanted. Trauma reactions and tantrums are not the same thing. But I also ponder whether some people might emotionally fall apart because society has enabled and taught them that they need to be provided “safe places”–so they never learned how to handle disappointments, failure, pain, and hardship. Rather than take responsibility for their own growth, they expect everyone else to.
I believe that we can–and ought–to be compassionate, understanding, and supportive of people who suffer from the effects of trauma. However, I also believe that each individual is responsible for fighting for his/her own recovery, healing, and growth. No one can do it for us. For example, the veteran I mentioned above was genuinely suffering from PTSD. Others could/should give him support and help. However, it would be wrong for him to demand that the whole world become quiet for his benefit–all factories be quiet, people tiptoe around him to avoid ever making any noises, and no one ever allowed to celebrate with fireworks because they trigger him. People have to learn to regain their own life, not demand that others stop living theirs.
The same applies to victims of other traumas as well. I have fiercely fought “battles within the silent chambers of my own soul” to overcome abuse. My personal battle involved breaking free from those who tried to press me into being who they wanted me to be and who rejected me when I resisted. I get triggered by messages of guilt, accusations, blame, manipulation, lies, and control because those were the tactics used against me. Those previous two sentences do not convey the hard battles I’ve fought to be my own self and not let my own identity get overwritten and destroyed. I believe that my triggers reveal areas of my life that I need to strengthen. At times I’ve shared some of my struggles with others; other times I’ve struggled silently. I don’t expect anyone to fight this battle for me. They can help but it’s MY battle to fight. Only I can free myself. Only I can stand firm in who I was created to be. I see progress in myself; I am aware that I have more work to be done. I’ve learned a lot along the way and my experiences have shaped and strengthened me in unexpected ways. I wouldn’t be who I am today if I hadn’t gone through what I did.
I care deeply for hurting people who are fighting their own battles. I understand that most people are imperfect with flaws and foibles. They have wounds and traumas that are sometimes triggered and cause them to have meltdowns. I know that even the most loving person is going to occasionally have bad days, do something insensitive or hurtful, misunderstand, or violate another’s boundaries. I try to allow others the freedom to not be perfect. At the same time, I resist any attempt to be caged by others’ expectations and control. I try to maintain a balance between the boundaries of them and me. Allowing others to enjoy their own identities shouldn’t mean that I must lose mine.
I think there is a difference between trying not to hurt others and allowing them to remake us into what they want us to be. There are sacrifices we can make for others and those we must not make. For example, I’ve had a friend who is very afraid of all kinds of birds. Out of love for her, I wouldn’t drag her out to see my chickens. However, I also wouldn’t deprive myself of having chickens because of her fear. If I invited a vegetarian to dinner, I’d try to serve him a vegetarian meal. However, I wouldn’t become a vegetarian myself to please him. Likewise, I don’t think that I should have to change my sense of humor, change how I express myself, change what I write on my blog, or share only things they approve of on my social media pages to make them feel happy. If I fundamentally change myself to please others, I lose my own identity.
I think it would be very easy for wounded people who want to never be wounded again to start to demand that others be perfect for them, that others be responsible for providing safety for them. That’s a trap that I try very hard not to fall into. If we expect someone to never fail us, to always be perfect, we are actually expecting them to be like God, who never fails and is always faithful. No human can be that. If we expect others to be what we want them to be, to meet our approval, we are actually attempting to remake them into our own image, to overwrite their identity with our own. Essentially, we are attempting to be a god in their lives. We can’t demand others give up their freedom to be themselves and live their own lives so that the world feels safe for us. This is wrong. This prevents us from overcoming, from growing, from becoming strong. We can’t expect to get stronger if we demand others lift weights for us.
I don’t get angry or offended very often. Most of the time I don’t feel the need to confront others because I understand that people are imperfect and they don’t usually intend to hurt. Many times I don’t even mention that they said something that I struggled with because I believed it was unintentional or something they were free to say. But sometimes behaviors are hurtful enough that they must be confronted so they don’t erode the relationship. Although not pleasant, I think a person should be able to tell me if I’ve done/said something that hurt them. Doing so does two things: 1. If I have genuinely done/said something wrong, it allows me to apologize and change. 2. If they misunderstood my words/actions, it gives me the chance to defend and explain myself. The reverse is true too: If I can approach another person about the way he hurt me, I allow him to either make it right or correct my misunderstanding. In each case, the hurts are addressed and the relationship can be restored. If we are prevented from confronting issues, they are not resolved, and they can grow into a barrier that can’t be broken down.
My sister (as I’ve written before) was extremely critical of me and occasionally she would verbally rip into me about everything she disliked about me until I felt emotionally battered. Then she would say, “There! Now that we have discussed this, let’s never bring it up again.” Only she had never let me say a word. I forgave and endured this for many years until finally one day I said, “No, WE haven’t discussed this, YOU have. If WE don’t BOTH have an opportunity to speak, our relationship will be ruined–and I love you too much to let that happen. You need to let ME speak too.” She was offended and eventually our friendship fell apart as I predicted. Although I really wanted to be friends with her and tried really hard to be, I don’t honestly think we ever had a good relationship.
I learned from my experiences with my sister. In my opinion, at least three things must exist for a relationship to be healthy and strong: One is to not constantly criticize and condemn the other. Constant criticism is an attempt to control others. The second is to give each other freedom to be our own selves. A relationship must breathe. Finally, there must be reciprocity in a relationship. If one person can criticize/confront and the other can’t, if one can speak and the other can’t, if one is expected to change him/herself for the other, it’s not a relationship of equals. It is one of master and slave. No matter how much I love someone, that’s not the type of relationship I want or can endure. I still allow others to confront me if they think I’ve done something wrong or hurtful, but I also insist on the opportunity to confront them. If they hurt me, I will try to approach them once or twice to resolve the problems but if they refuse to hear me, I will open my hand and let them go. I will no longer spend years and years trying to one-sidedly mend a relationship that they make no effort to keep.
It may appear as if I’ve wandered far off from my intent for this post, but I actually haven’t. I’ve covered these points:
- Everyone is triggered by memories. Some triggered memories are good, some are bad, and some are traumatic.
- Trauma often causes PTSD, which is “a normal reaction to an abnormal situation.”
- Trauma reactions and tantrums are not the same thing.
- Although we can–and should–have compassion and support each other, we are each responsible for our own recovery and growth. No one can fight our battles or make the world safe for us.
- When we demand that others never fail us, we demand from them something only God can give. If we demand that others be what we want them to be, to not do or say anything of which we disapprove, we are actually attempting to remake them in our image. In effect, we are creating a master/slave relationship.
- Some offenses can be overlooked but sometimes people do or say things that must be addressed. If both people are not free to confront the other, the problems will not be resolved and the relationship will not survive. There must be reciprocity in relationships.
- There are some sacrifices we can and should make for others. However, there are some we should never make. We should never give up our unique identities for another person. They have their own life to live. They don’t get mine (or yours) too.
Do you remember
Who you were before
the world told you
who you should be?
She’s still there.
Go after her.
~ Erica Layne
Second-hand Treasures
Did you have a nice New Year’s celebration?
We don’t go out to celebrate. Our New Year’s Eve traditions involve making homemade pizza and watching a very long movie series–usually the whole Lord of the Rings trilogy–until we can’t stay awake any longer and then finish the movie the next day. It was easier to do this when EJ worked second shift. Now that he works first shift, his alarm goes off at 4 a.m. and often he wakes up before then. I get up at 4:30 a.m. to spend a little time with him and pray for him before he goes to work. Then, if I can, Hannah Joy and I go back to bed for an hour or two more of sleep. By evening we are all eager for sleep (including Hannah) although we try to hold off until 9 p.m. before heading to bed. EJ had to work this New Year’s Eve. I made pizza for supper. We stayed up until 9:30 p.m. and then went to bed. We figured that somewhere in the world it was midnight so we were good. We never did watch The Lord of the Rings.
In the last month, I’ve heard three different instances of people speaking contemptuously of thrift shops (two of them on social media). They spoke as if the items in thrift stores were inferior, dirty, torn, broken, and/or bug-infested. This slightly irritated me. I say “slightly” because I don’t care how people shop. If they want to buy new items, that’s their choice. But as for us, we love second-hand shopping. I’m sure there must be some undesirable thrift stores, but the ones we have always visited have items that are clean, in good condition, attractively displayed and NOT bug-infested. If they were not, people wouldn’t shop there and they wouldn’t stay in business long.
The only real difference I’ve seen between a retail store and a thrift shop is that the latter has no racks and shelves filled with many of the same item. Instead, items are one-of-a-kind (at least at the store) and we never know what we might find–so there’s a thrill of treasure hunting. Also, the prices are cheaper at thrift stores. We’ve found the same high-quality, name-brand items that people paid a lot of money for at retail stores at a fraction of the price they paid. We’ve heard of some people who buy items at thrift stores and then sell them on their websites at a marked-up price. We’ve also heard of people finding items at thrift stores that are worth thousands of dollars. When you think about it, every beautiful antique is actually a second-hand piece of furniture.
I get highs, to be totally honest, in second-hand shops. My hunting instinct, I expect, really kicks in.
~ Bjork
I found this beautiful Norstrikk sweater, made in Norway, at a thrift store. It is very heavy, warm, well made, and beautiful. I love Nordic-type sweaters. This is one of my favorites.
The best way to look stylish on a budget is to try second-hand, bargain hunting, and vintage.
~ Orlando Bloom
Every item in the following photo was bought second-hand, including the picture on the wall. Most of the items we found at thrift stores but I actually found the desk–called a “secretary”–at a garage sale years ago when I was in my late teens or early 20s. I paid $5 for it. It was in bad shape with the veneer cracked and the door falling off. Everyone disdainfully told me that it should be thrown away but I saw possibilities and I refinished it. After I married EJ, he named the desk “Ms. Pennyweather” because it is a secretary. We’ve called it “Ms. Pennyweather” ever since. It is a treasured piece of furniture.
Second-hand stuff leaves you more open to whatever your own personal style is rather than feeling dictated to by shops.
~ Sophie Ellis-Bextor
EJ and I both grew up loving garage sales, thrift shops, used book sales, and auctions. We have both always been frugal and we loved to repurpose things, which takes a fair amount of imagination and creativity. There are things we buy new, but we rarely buy anything new if we can help it. Before we married, EJ had seldom gone to garage sales and I had never gone to an auction. Auctions taught me a lot because they usually involve the selling of a deceased person’s estate. I soberly considered that these people had spent a lifetime accumulating stuff that was now dragged out into the yard, scrutinized by strangers, and sold for very little. It taught me that stuff is just stuff. EJ and I are unimpressed by name-brand labels or the expense of an item. If we brag, it is about what a treasure we found and how little we paid for it.
We love used book sales because we treasure books. We turned our spare bedroom into a home library whose walls are lined with shelves filled with hundreds of books. One of my favorite childhood memories is that of the huge used book sale our library held every year at our town’s annual festival. I looked forward to the book sales more than the parade, or the arts and crafts sale, or the historical encampment held at the huge park. My sisters and I filled boxes and bags full of books that cost us only 5-10 cents each–then we’d have to lug them several blocks home. Once we bought many books at a beautiful towered house that workmen were beginning to tear down to put in a fast food place.
The good thing about buying used books so cheaply–besides the fact that we can buy many used books for the cost of one new one–is that I can take the risk of buying a book written by an unfamiliar author. If a book looks interesting, I buy it figuring that if I don’t like it, I can always re-donate it. I have discovered many authors who have become favorites this way.
About a month ago, EJ and I went to a large used book sale at our local library, which is housed in a community center. There was also a large holiday arts/crafts sale in the building, but we only gave it a perfunctory look because we were there for the books. I just started reading one of the books I found there called The Map Thief. I thought it was a novel, perhaps a fantasy, but it turns out that it’s a true story about Forbes Smiley, a rare book dealer who was caught stealing about 100 maps from the rare book collections in libraries and selling them in his store. In addition to describing the life of Forbes Smiley, the book also describes the history of rare maps and the world of map collecting.
I love learning new things (which is why I have a page called “Everything Links“). Sometimes I feel as if I’m walking along through life and suddenly there is a door that I’d never noticed before. I open it and find a whole world I didn’t know existed. Over the years, I’ve learned about the worlds of fighting wildfires, hotels, Great Lakes bulk carrier, Hebrew and Hebraic perspectives, and many other things by either reading about them or listening to people I personally know. Now I have opened the door to the world of antique maps and I’m finding it fascinating.
I was instantly captivated by the author’s introduction in The Map Thief. Michael Blanding said that when he was growing up, he always found that the best books were those with maps in them. “I pored over the ‘There and Back Again’ map in J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit, which both allows the reader to follow along with the journey and also plays an essential role in the plot. Personally, though, I was always more captivated by the sprawling map of Middle-earth in Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, thrilling to the long leagues of jagged mountains and dark-shaded forests bleeding off the margins of the page. That open-ended geography consciously raised the spector of other stories in the adjacent territories occurring at the same time as the events described in the trilogy. ” The author also said that he loved to travel on family vacations, sitting next to his father “folding and unfolding the map as the trip itself unfolded.” His love of maps continued as he grew older. He said, “I know I’m not alone in feeling that cartographic allure–since I started working on this book, countless people have shared with me their own enthusiasm for maps. Some love them for the beauty they express, others for the sense of order they represent. Some thrill to their promise of adventure, armchair or otherwise, and others cherish their familiar depiction of a territory close to home. For everyone I’ve spoken with, however, there is something intensely personal about this cartographic connection. Despite the way they express a shared geography, maps are tools of the imagination first, mediating a relationship between an individual and a place.”
I instantly related to the author’s love of maps because I also love the maps in books such as those of Middle-earth, as well as following my progress on maps as I’ve traveled on family trips. I asked myself, “Why do maps appeal to me personally?” I pondered that I love the sense of traveling along with characters in a story and sharing in their adventure. In addition, since I have such a poor sense of direction, I might love maps because they show me where I am and how I connect to the world. But more than that, maps show me the past, present, and future–where I have been, where I am, and where I am going. They help me consider where I want to be and if I’m going in the right direction. They show me how much progress I’ve made on a journey and how far I have yet to go. In many ways, maps are a metaphor for navigating through life, which is often compared to a journey. I think that’s why I like maps.
“We must read, not only for what we read but for what it makes us think.”
~ Louis L’Amour
I might not have chosen this book if I had been buying it new because if I’m going to pay full price, I want to make sure the book is one I’ll like. However, The Map Thief looked interesting at the book sale, it didn’t cost much, and I thought it was worth the risk. I’m really glad I bought it because I’m learning and pondering so much. It was yet another treasure found at a second-hand sale.
Your second-hand bookseller is second to none in the worth of the treasures he dispenses.
~ Leigh Hunt
Christmas Joy
EJ and I had a nice Christmas together. After years of struggling with Christmas, we have intentionally created a Christmas that we enjoy. He had four days off from work.
The weather has been warm with rain and fog instead of snow. I like all sorts of weather so I don’t get bothered if we don’t have a white Christmas. The only difficulty with lots of rain is that the chicken pen gets very mucky and the muck sucks at my boots as I walk through it. I sometimes imagine getting sucked down into the muck like quicksand and disappearing…
EJ originally had Christmas Eve off but he traded with a co-worker who would have otherwise lost a day of pay because of the way the scheduling works. While EJ was at work, I turned on Christmas music and reorganized the kitchen cupboards. I told EJ later that it was sort of like the story “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie” in that cleaning one room resulted in also cleaning other drawers, closets, and rooms
EJ had several coupons so he planned to stop at the store on his way home from work on Christmas Eve. My Mom used to scoop a bowl of snow to cool the pan of candy in. I reminded him several times that since we had no snow, he needed to buy ice so we could rapidly cool the candy we were planning to make on Christmas Day. With all his coupons, he bought a bagful of groceries for only 49 cents, which is amazing!!!! I think he actually does better with couponing than I do. But he forgot the ice. With no snow and no ice to cool the candy, I thought we’d have to cancel the candy-making. However, we decided to try to make one batch of candy and set the pan in a few inches of cold water in the sink to see if that worked. It DID! So we continued with our candy making.
Over the years, EJ and I have developed a sort of tradition in that whichever one has the strongest vision or desire to do a job becomes the “Job Boss” and the other is the “Hero Support.” This applies to renovating a room, doing projects, gardening, cooking, etc. EJ really wanted to be the candy maker on Christmas Day so he could learn how to do it. As Hero Support, I kept the workspaces/tools cleaned and prepared between batches of candy and I took photographs; I am the family “historian.” I was also the “consultant” who reminded him of techniques from my childhood. We make candy the way my Mom did. Unlike most people, my Mom always used two drams of flavor oils instead of one so the flavor is wonderfully strong. I think that only one dram of flavor oil makes bland candy although I supposed others might find our candy too strong. My Mom also always cut the candy into square “pillows” rather than shatter the sheet of candy.
We had a wonderful time. I turned on Christmas music as we worked. We both agreed that making candy on Christmas Day with appropriate music was necessary for the candy to be correct. EJ had fun cooking the candy and mixing the colors for each batch. When he put in the flavor oils, a cloud of steam billowed up with such strong aroma that we coughed and gasped. The house filled with the aroma of vanilla butternut, cinnamon, cloves, and peppermint candy. “THIS is what Christmas smells like,” I said.
The day after Christmas, I made four homemade turkey potpies. I froze three and gave one to our neighbor as a thank you. For the last several years, he has plowed our driveway in the winter and graded it during the summer without accepting any payment. He stopped by and EJ helped him fix his tractor. Also, EJ’s friend visited. He lives a couple hours away so he spent the night and left the next day. He brought Hannah a bone to chew on, which he often does when he visits. He is her favorite “uncle” and she loves when he visits. Our son is working on his Great Lakes bulk carrier so he couldn’t stop by, but I saved a bag of candy for him and made and froze two small pies for him when he gets off the ship in January.
EJ made bread in his new bread machine on Christmas morning before we started making candy. I’ve made four batches of butter over the last few days. We also got several other small projects done. EJ returned to work this morning. In the mornings, I’ve been making a delicious peppermint coffee by dropping a peppermint candy into my coffee. Yum.
I hope that you all had a nice Christmas, although I know that the Christmas season is very difficult for some people–those who are alone, those who have lost loved ones, those who are victims of abuse. The number of suicides is highest at this time of year. A woman shared her childhood Christmas memories on a social media page I follow. Her Christmases were filled with rage and violence. It made me ponder that we tell the events of the Birth of Christ as if it were a beautiful story. It IS a beautiful story of a God who so loved the world that He sent His Son to redeem us. However, on that first Christmas, there were no decorations, holiday baking, awesome gifts, and loving family gatherings.
If you really look at the story, this is what happened: Mary probably would have been considered immoral and would not have been treated well by her community. How much rejection and insults did she suffer when it became known that she was “with child”? Those times were very stressful with corrupt tyrannical leaders in power. Everyone had to travel to the city of their ancestors to be counted for the census so there would have been a lot of traffic. Although our traditions show Mary riding on a donkey, the Bible says nothing about a donkey so it’s possible she walked while very pregnant. I’m not sure where they started from–if they traveled from Nazareth, it was a 70-mile journey. The distance was far enough that when they reached Bethlehem, they needed to find an inn. The inns were all full so the only place for them to stay was a stable. Not exactly comfy or sterile surroundings. Did Joseph have help when Mary went into labor or did he deliver the baby by himself? The Bible doesn’t say. As a first-time father, I’d have to think it was a stressful night either way.
Luke 4 says that as an adult, Jesus read from Isaiah in the synagogue: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim liberty to the captive and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty those who are oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” And he rolled up the scroll and gave it back to the attendant and sat down. And the eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him. And he began to say to them, “Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”
What I’m trying to say is that Jesus’ birth was not a Hallmark movie and He came for people who are hurting. I hope those who are hurting find comfort in that.
Oh, Christmas Tree
I wasn’t planning to write for a few days because I know everyone is busy with the holidays. However, I was cuddling Little Bear and meandering through Christmas memories and thought up this true story.:
I used to love decorating for Christmas. I had a nice (artificial) tree with beautiful lights and decorations. I’d turn off the lamps and we would enjoy the beautiful glow of the tree. My young son and I used to lay on the floor with our heads under the tree and enjoy the beautiful decorations from the inside.
One cold December evening about 14 years ago, we heard a loud caterwauling outside the front door. When we opened the door a tiny black ball of fluff climbed up our leg. It was a tiny kitten. We took him in and called him “Little Bear” because he looked like a tiny bear cub.
The other cats left the Christmas tree alone (mostly) but Little Bear loved climbing it and poking his head out of the branches. He constantly knocked decorations off the tree, which I patiently picked up and hung back up.
After a couple of Christmas seasons, I tired of constantly picking up decorations from the floor so whenever LIttle Bear knocked one off, I’d pick it up and put it in a box. By Christmas Day, the tree was devoid of decorations.
One year I decided it was fruitless to put any decorations on the tree at all. Besides, it was beautiful with just lights. But as Little Bear climbed the tree, half the lights went out—and then the other half. I spent hours trying to restore the lights…only to have Little Bear knock them out again.
So one year I thought, “I’ll just put up the decoration-less, light-less tree and let Little Bear enjoy climbing it. Which he did.
Finally, the tree was broken beyond repair. It was tilted at an odd angle. The branches were permanently flattened and bent. After Christmas had passed, we threw out the tree. We didn’t get another.
Instead, we cuddle Little Bear, now grown old, as we watch the snow outside decorating the pine trees in the forest with snowflakes.
Christmas Eve Eve
Last Tuesday our bread machine died. EJ discovered it after he measured the ingredients into the loaf pan and turned the machine on. It whirred a bit but didn’t work. He was able to rescue the ingredients and make bread the old-fashioned way; it turned out lovely. Since EJ makes bread at least twice a week and kneading dough is rough on our hands, losing the bread machine was a major inconvenience. So we ordered a new one. We called this his Christmas gifts although we hadn’t planned on getting gifts this year.
After ordering the bread machine, we went shopping for groceries. We filled our cart with mostly staples–flour, sugar, vegetables, and fruit, and so forth, although we did get a few extras such as nuts, low-salt crackers, and pinconning cheese, which is my favorite. I also splurged a got myself a candy thermometer (we plan to make candy this coming week) and a measuring cups/spoon set which were on sale for half-off. The set included spoons for measuring a pinch, a dash, and a tad, which I thought was cool.
With the bread machine and groceries, we did quite a bit of shopping on Tuesday but we didn’t spend any money. Zero. Zilch. How? I’m glad you asked.
EJ’s company gave him a generous gift card from the grocery store so all our groceries that day didn’t cost us anything. At the company Christmas lunch, his company gave each employee a lottery ticket. We don’t ever buy lottery tickets but this was a gift so <shrug>. EJ won $100 and we bought the bread machine with it. The company also randomly gave employees money–it sounds like it was sort of a grab-bag type of thing. EJ received $20 so we used it to go treasuring hunting at the thrift stores. So we serendipitously found ourselves with Christmas gifts. It was a fun date sort of day, without any hassle–and without spending any money.
This morning I went out to open the coop and feed the animals. For some reason, I looked for both the chicken littles. Now that they are older and have joined the general population, I usually don’t try to locate them. I found only one youngster. I searched for the other and found that she had gone between the dog house and fancy coop that are within the Coop and had gotten trapped behind the dog house. I tried to use a long stick to prod her out behind the dog house but she wasn’t budging. I went back into the house, changed into my worn, ripped jeans that I wear for especially dirty jobs, told EJ about the trapped chick, and headed back out. He joined me and when we both couldn’t get her out, we moved aside six bales of straw that were beside and on top of the dog house. Then EJ scooched the heavy dog house a few inches to the side and we got her out that way. We moved everything back in place and put some wire fencing between the two shelters to prevent chicks from getting back there.
Here is a photo of the dog house and fancy coop, which the chick was trapped between. The chicks can be seen in front of the fancy coop. The chicks are free to leave but they still stick pretty close to it and to Mama. Theo is on the roof of the dog house. He always does chores with me.
EJ has to work tomorrow, Christmas Eve. He originally had it off, but he traded days with a co-worker. The way their work schedules are, if EJ had the day off then the other guy would lose a day of pay. It’s difficult enough to make ends meet without losing pay so we have no problem with the trade.
On Christmas Day we are hoping to make hard candy. We haven’t made it for many years. We make it the way my Mom always did—with double oils to make the flavors much stronger. My Mom also used to use a bowl of snow instead of ice cubes to quickly cool the pan of hot candy. I laugh whenever I think of my older sister (as an adult) saying she couldn’t make candy one year because there was no snow on the ground. I said, “You realize that you can use ice cubes instead of snow? Mom just used snow because it was quick and convenient.” LOL.
Gasp! It just occurred to me that WE have no snow. We also don’t have ice cubes! I’ll need one or the other! We also only have a couple tiny ice cube trays. Hmmm. This is a logistics problem. We might have to either buy a bag of ice or postpone the candy-making. Oh, well. We are flexible.
In case I don’t get back here: I hope you all have a blessed Christmas day.
My Hanukkah-mas Story
The weather warmed and all our snow disappeared. However, it began to snow early this morning and now I’m looking out the window at a beautiful snow-globe landscape. Occasionally the wind whips up the snow so it looks like the planet Hoth from the Star Wars universe. The chickens all decided to stay safely within their coop. I’m trying to decide if they are wimps or wise. Hannah Joy insisted on taking me for a walk down the driveway, as she does every day. I didn’t mind because I had a letter to put in the mailbox.
We are now well into the holiday season and I decided to tell you my own personal Christmas story. More accurately, this is my Hanukkah-mas story.
My family was not Christian so we didn’t have a Christ-centered holiday as I was growing up. However, from the time I was two years old, our widowed, childless neighbor took me, and later my younger sister, to church. It was easier for us to spend Saturday nights with our beloved neighbor and she’d get us up and ready for church the next morning. We spent Saturday nights and all day Sunday with her throughout my childhood until she died during my senior year of high school. Because of her, we became Christians and learned the real meaning of Christmas.
I loved the magic of Christmas as a child and have many warm memories of the holiday. However, as a teenager, I yearned to bring more of Christ into Christmas Day at home. By this time, all of my older siblings had left home so I started getting up very early on Christmas morning and reading the story of Christ’s birth in the Bible alone by the beautiful glow of the Christmas lights. My Dad had a grandfather’s clock which my older sister and I bought for him one Christmas by crocheting slippers for months and selling them door-to-door. I still remember the tick-tocking of the clock punctuating the silence of those early Christmas mornings.
We often hear it quoted that “Jesus is the Reason for the Season” but over the years, in the various seasons of my life, I have struggled to find Christ in Christmas. He always seemed to get lost in the hectic blur of decorating for the holiday, shopping for gifts for family, relatives, and secret pals at work and church, sending Christmas cards, making holiday treats, and rushing to church practices, programs, and teas. There was also all the commercial pushing of “buy more!” I enjoyed many aspects of the traditions, but in the whirl of activity, it always seemed as if there was too much busyness to pause and celebrate Christ even when the intent was to celebrate Him as the Reason for the Season. He seemed more of an “add-on” at the end of exhausting weeks.
Several years ago, my husband’s sister spoke excitedly of the Christmas program at her church. She said that her favorite part was the children running around dressed as elves and a song the choir sang called “Run, Run, Reindeer.” It actually made me sad and…disgusted? I have no problem with singing fun songs, but Christmas is the one time when many people go to church and are exposed to the gospel story. To sing fictional songs at CHURCH, to miss the opportunity to share the Reason for the Season, seems very wrong to me. The church could have proclaimed the most significant event in human history and instead it offered elves and reindeer? The Bible warned that wolves would infiltrate the church and I believe many have.
Christmas also involved some heartache. As I’ve written before, when I was engaged to my husband, my Mom tried to seize control of our relationship. I respectfully refused to let her and she turned all my family against me. It was then that I learned that my family was very dysfunctional. I was used to big family gatherings and suddenly I had no family so Christmas became lonely and painful. Christmas is actually a very difficult season for many people who have been rejected, abused, have lost loved ones, and so forth. The suicide rates are highest at Christmas. I struggled at first with these Christmas holidays, but…well, I’m getting ahead of myself.
15-20 years ago, I found myself studying Hebrew and learning about the Hebraic perspective of the Scriptures, which is a story in itself that I will not take time to tell. However, seeing the Bible through the Hebraic lens exponentially deepened the Scriptures for me. What was beautiful before became breathtakingly awesome. Things that I didn’t really understand before became much more understandable. I’d like to point out that Jesus was Jewish and almost all His early followers were Jewish, including His disciples. The early believers, among them many priests (Acts 6:7), considered Jesus to be the Messiah as prophesied in the Old Testament rather than a separate “gentile” faith. Jews and Christians share a common faith. The division between them came later to our detriment.
My own little family began to celebrate the Biblical Feasts as Christians because we believe they all point to Jesus. The Spring Feasts are about His first coming and the Fall Feasts speak of His second coming. As I began to learn about the Hebraic perspective of the Bible, I began to understand the Hebrew idioms and word plays that were lost to me before. For example, Jesus would have actually been known as “Yeshua,” which means “God saves” or “salvation.” This brings understanding and beauty to Matthew 1:21: “She will give birth to a son, and you are to name him Yeshua [God saves], because he will save his people from their sins.” This understanding also makes verses like Psalms 118:14 beautiful: “God is my strength and my song, and he has become my salvation [Yeshua].”
I LOVE the name Yeshua and often call Him that, although I use the name Jesus with most Christians because that is the name they are familiar with. My favorite Bible version is the Complete Jewish Bible because it uses Hebraic names and terms. I often use more familiar translations when speaking to people who might not understand them.
So now on to Hanukkah. In John 10:22 it is called the “Feast of Dedication” which Yeshua celebrated. Hanukkah is tied to a time when Israel was struggling for existence. In 167 BC, Israel was under the rule of Antiochus Epiphanes (Greek for “God Manifest”), who was known for his cruelty and delusions of deity. His enemies referred to him as Antiochus Epimanes (“madman”). Among many atrocities he committed as he tried to Hellenize Israel, Antiochus desecrated the Temple in Jerusalem, dedicating it to Greek gods and even sacrificing a pig on the altar. Under Greek rule, Torah-study was forbidden. To disguise their studies, Israelites would pretend to be playing dreidel games if anyone came by. Today, the dreidel bears Hebrew letters representing the phrase, “Nes Gadol Hayah Sham (a great miracle happened there),” in reference to Hanukkah. The books 1 and 2 Maccabees describe Israel’s suffering under Antiochus, as well as the successful revolt against him, which was led by the Maccabees, a Jewish family of priests, who refused to assimilate to a pagan culture. After winning their freedom, the Jewish people rededicated the Temple to God.
Hanukkah is a testament to God’s faithfulness to the Jewish people by preserving them through war and persecution – and His faithfulness in fulfilling His promises to produce a Messiah from the line of David. If the Jewish people had succumbed to Hellenizing pressures and lost their religious and ethnic distinctiveness, the Messianic prophecies could not have been fulfilled. That is worth celebrating.
Hanukkah celebration involves lighting a special nine-candle Hanukkah menorah called a “hanukkiah.” One candle is called the “Shamash” or servant candle. It is either elevated or set apart from the other eight candles. It is lit first and then used to light the other candles. An additional candle is lit each of the eight nights of the holiday.
For believers the servant candle is a symbol of Yeshua: For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give His life as a ransom for many. (Mark 10:45) Yeshua said that He is the Light of the World (John 8:12; 9:15). At the same time, He told His followers that we are also lights (Matthew 5:14) and that we must shine the Light to the world–just as the hanukkiah carries forth the light that originates in the Shamash candle. Hanukkah is also a reminder to me that we are not to assimilate to an evil culture, we are to stand firm in faith and shine out into the darkness.
Hanukkah is an annual memorial of the cleansing of the Temple and rededication of the altar. The New Testament compares our bodies to a temple of the Living God (1 Cor. 6:19-20) so Hanukkah is also a reminder to us to rededicate our lives to following Yeshua. If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. (1 John 1:9)
This is why I love Hanukkah. The first time we decided to celebrate it, our son exclaimed, “Cool! Does that mean we get eight more days of presents???” I said, “NO!” We purposely keep our celebration very simple and restful and focused on Yeshua. We light the beautiful candles and read verses from throughout the Bible that refer to His light. Sometimes I make latkes; a Christian Jewish friend shared her grandmother’s recipe with me.
At first, we celebrated both Hanukkah and Christmas, but gradually we let go of the busyness of Christmas. I found a book which, if I remember correctly, was called “Unplug the Christmas Machine,” which basically recommended letting go of anything that didn’t bring you close to the Reason for the Season. After our cats finished destroying our Christmas tree by climbing it and knocking off the decorations, we didn’t get another. We don’t always give gifts but if we do, we give out of love, not obligation. This year my husband and I asked each other, “Do you want to give each other gifts?” But we couldn’t think of anything we wanted so we decided not to. Instead, we will buy oranges and a mixture of nuts–a holiday treat. We plan to make hard candy next week, which we haven’t done in years. We might watch our favorite movies. Or not. And we will listen to our favorite songs. The peacefulness of our Christmas takes me back to when I read the Christmas story by the light of the Christmas tree as my dad’s grandfather clock tick-tocked into the silence.
Yesterday, I made homemade butter. I enjoy making butter. I do it in a food processor rather than a butter churn, then squeeze out the buttermilk I use later for pancakes, and then I rinse the butter and press it into molds. I decided to listen to Christmas hymns as I worked, starting out with a YouTube playlist of Christmas music from The Piano Guys. I love their creative music. One of the songs they played was their rendition of “Angels From the Realms of Glory” with 1,000 singers accompanying them. It was very beautiful and the words brought tears to my eyes:
Angels from the realms of glory
wing your flight o’er all the earth
ye who sang creation’s story
now proclaim Messiah’s birth
Saints before the altar bending
Watching on in hope and fear
Suddenly the Lord descending
In His Temple shall appear
Though an infant now we view Him
He shall fill His Father’s throne
Gather all the nations to Him
Every knee shall then bow down
Gloria, in excelsis Deo
My husband observed that many of the Christian Christmas songs are actually what he calls “kingdom songs.” They tie the baby in the manger to His earthly ministry and to His returning as the King of Glory to reign over the nations, such as in the lyrics above. It’s sort of a shame these aren’t sung throughout the year since they have meaning beyond this one season. They are very beautiful, very meaningful, and they are affecting me especially deeply this year. Past, present, and future collide at this time of year as I slide from celebrating the Light of the World who overcomes the darkness at Hanukkah into celebrating the coming of the King of Kings. Both these holidays are filled with beautiful meaning.
I do not feel lonely at this season. I do not feel that I cannot find the Messiah in the exhausting busyness. I feel a quiet awe that God so loved the world that He sent His Son so that He could be Emmanuel, God With Us. (The Emmanuel song at the link to the left is sung in both English and Hebrew.)
The Wonder of Wonders*
The wonder of wonders as she looked on His face
That this little boy spoke the worlds in their place
The stars and the moon, shining brightly on them
The earth and the sun were created by Him.
The wonder of wonders as she looked down and smiled
That He was her maker as well as her child
He created the womb that had given Him birth
He was God incarnate come down to the earth
The wonder of wonders as she heard His small cry
That this voice had thundered on Mount Sinai
The hand that she held so tenderly
Had made a dry path thru the mighty Red Sea.
The wonder of wonders as a Father looked on
In eternity past that this was His son
Had sent Him to die on Calvary’s tree
And that is the wonder of wonders to me.
Chorus:
The wonder of wonders oh how could it be
That God became Flesh and was given for me.
The Almighty came down and walked among men
The wonder of wonders He died for my sin.
(*The final verse isn’t sung by The Inspirations)
Joy to the World
Joy to the world, the Lord is come!
Let earth receive her King;
Let every heart prepare Him room,
And heav’n and nature sing,
And heav’n and nature sing,
And heav’n, and heav’n, and nature sing.
Joy to the earth, the Savior reigns!
Let men their songs employ;
While fields and floods, rocks, hills, and plains
Repeat the sounding joy,
Repeat the sounding joy,
Repeat, repeat, the sounding joy.
No more let sins and sorrows grow,
Nor thorns infest the ground;
He comes to make His blessings flow
Far as the curse is found,
Far as the curse is found,
Far as, far as, the curse is found.
He rules the world with truth and grace,
And makes the nations prove
The glories of His righteousness,
And wonders of His love,
And wonders of His love,
And wonders, wonders, of His love.
I will leave you with one last thought that I often ponder at this time of year:
Luke 2 says that after the angels left, the shepherds hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. Later, according to Matthew 2, when the Magi arrived in Jerusalem asking where the King of the Jews was, King Herod was disturbed, and all Jerusalem with him. Herod called together all the people’s chief priests and teachers of the law to ask them where the Messiah was to be born. Then he went out and killed all the babies of Bethlehem in an attempt to murder Him. These were unusual events that would have been marveled over and talked about for years. Did you ever wonder how many people made the connection between those events and the adult Yeshua thirty years later? Probably quite a few because these events wouldn’t have been forgotten.
May the light of Hanukkah-mas fill your heart this season.
Released
EJ and I celebrated Thanksgiving Day alone, but we had a Second Thanksgiving with our son and his girlfriend last Saturday (December 9th). Both Thanksgivings were very enjoyable. Having a first and second Thanksgiving made me feel very Hobbit-ish. A few days after Second Thanksgiving, EJ struggled with his blood pressure going a bit high, but we were more careful with diet and I think it’s more acceptable now.
We celebrated Hanukkah this week by lighting the candles. It’s such a beautiful, peaceful experience.
I’ve been debating with myself for the last few weeks about when I should let the Mama Hen and her two now-not-so-small chicks leave their safe “nursery shelter” in the coop and join the adult flock. It’s not easy letting chicks leave the nest and join the adult world, but sooner or later they must grow up–whether the “chicks” are human or poultry. Finally, I figured they were big enough and I permanently opened the door to their shelter so they could go in or out as they please. It always takes chicks a day or two to gather enough courage to venture out. Then there is another day or so in which they run back to safety when they encounter the older chickens pecking them to ensure they understand their rank in society. Gradually, they find the courage to go outside..
Yesterday evening when I went to shut the flock in their coop for the night, the adults were all flying up to their roosting spots and I saw one of the young ones on the floor looking slightly confused. She reminded me of a kid who is insecure on his first day at a new school. I checked their shelter and noticed that the Mama and her other chick were inside so I picked up the unsure chick and put her inside with them. It won’t be long before the youngsters gain their confidence.
Tuesday night EJ slept in his lazy-boy in the living room because his back was causing him a lot of pain. He suffers chronic back pain from an old injury. EJ told me later that a few hours after Hannah and I went to bed, our cat Little Bear came into the living room carrying a mouse. EJ said that Little Bear looked at him with pleading eyes that said “What I do now? What do I do?” EJ told him, “You have to kill it.” Little Bear seemed upset at the thought. He dropped the mouse and it ran under a cabinet and out the side where he caught it again. “You have to kill it,” EJ said. Meanwhile, Hannah became aware of the situation and wanted out of the bedroom. I thought she needed to go outside so I opened the door. Little Bear dropped the mouse and Hannah streaked across the floor, caught it, and ate it, chewing it like she was bubble gum. Yuck. It always makes EJ and me feel a bit like vomiting. At least we didn’t see the mouse’s tail hanging out of her mouth. THAT makes it even grosser. This is the second time in a week that the cats have caught and released a mouse that Hannah caught and ate.
There was a meteorite shower on Wednesday night. We get up by 4-5 a.m. every morning so it’s difficult for us to stay up late. We set our alarm to wake us up at midnight and then we went out and watched the night sky for a while. We saw maybe two dozen meteorites before we headed back in to bed. We also heard an owl hooting in the distance. It was very beautiful and peaceful.
Breathings Of My Heart
There are thoughts I’ve been thinking for a very long time, but I’ve struggled to find the words to express them. I tend to see topics from many different angles, each connected to many other thoughts, so writing something complicated can feel impossible at times. Recently, however, someone shared something on social media that reminded me of these thoughts so I decided to try again to share them. Here goes:
I love the differences of people. I think people’s differences are like a box of colored crayons; each brings a different sort of beauty. I like people’s quirks–to me, that’s what makes each person unique. Often a person’s differences help me to grow, to see something in a different way. I love learning about different countries, customs and traditions. I love that people express themselves in different creative ways.
I have friends who enjoy different forms of creativity: photography, music, painting, among others. I don’t have friends who dance, and I’m absolutely not a dancer, but for several years I enjoyed the series, “So You Think You Can Dance.” I thought it was fun learning about different forms of dance–even the ones that weren’t exactly my favorite. I still enjoy watching videos of different forms of dancing. I feel honored when people share their creativity–whether with me, personally, or on social media. When they share their creativity, I feel they are sharing a piece of themselves. They are letting me see the world through their lens, their music, their dance, their writing. They are letting me feel what they are feeling or thinking. It’s an awesome gift.
I am an INFJ personality type, which is a rare and complicated type of introvert. Briefly: We INFJs are both logical and emotional. We love people but need solitude. We are deep thinkers. We can see through many different perspectives. We love nature and animals. We are very empathetic. We hate cruelty, deception, and manipulation. We love honesty and genuineness. Most of us express ourselves through writing.
True to type, I love to write. I don’t write to get published or gain “likes.” I just like to write. In person, I can be quiet and don’t always share my deepest thoughts, especially when I don’t comfortable or safe with a person. However, my thoughts and emotions come pouring out in writing. My fingers speak when my voice doesn’t. I like painting scenes with words instead of paint. Nonwriters could sum something up in one sentence, but I prefer to tell a story of what led up to a situation, what happened, what I felt and/or how I struggled, what the result was, and what I learned through it. Or I like trying to describe a bit of beauty or joy so that another person can maybe get a sip of it.
We live in a world where many people are threatened and offended by differences and rather than learn to tolerate or celebrate them, they demand that others change to meet their approval. Some do it deliberately to abusively destroy or gain control of others. Others do it unintentionally, without awareness of what they are doing. But, in effect, if anyone tries to pressure others to meet his (or her) approval, he is actually attemping to mold them into an image of himself. He is trying to overwrite the other person with himself. I don’t like hurting people because I feel life batters people enough without me adding to it. However, there’s so many people being offended by so many things that there’s no way to get through life without stepping on someone’s toes. If you try to please everyone all the time, you will soon find yourself emptied of everything that makes you uniquely you. I’ve struggled to find the balance between compassionately caring about others and conforming to what others demand at the expense of myself.
I feel as if all my life I have had to battle to be who I am, to not let myself be erased, overwritten, remade into a replicate of someone else. My next oldest sister, for example, has always criticized anything about me that she didn’t like, which was just about everything. However, anything she liked about me, she claimed credit for. She didn’t like my sense of humor, which is different than hers. (Hers is more goofy like Lucille Ball while I enjoy word-plays and finding humor in life like Jerry Seinfeld.) However, if I joked in a way she approved, she claimed that she was rubbing off on me. If she didn’t like a thought/opinion I shared then, ugh, that was all me. But if she approved of it, she claimed my thoughts had been influenced by her. She criticized everything I said on social media. She hated my previous blog. When she discovered it, she started telling me that I should write about this and not that, that I should say something in such-and-such a way, and why do I even write a blog? I should keep my writing private and share it with no one. She made me feel as if I were a lump of ugly clay and that I gained value only when/if I was like her. Her criticism grew worse over time until I felt I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t write. In fact, I deleted that blog to get away from her. When I started this blog, I decided that I will not ever again delete my blog because someone doesn’t like it.
To be honest, when people become overly critical, I feel like asking sarcasticly: “So, should I fill out a form, in triplicate, detailing what I want to say, do, or laugh about so that you can pre-approve it?” Sometimes I want to exclaim, “Stop writing my lines for me!” I’m capable of saying what I want to say in the way that I want to say it. Even if I had a lot in common with “you,” I still am ME, not YOU. Can you imagine if someone said to others about their talents what my sister has said to me? Like this:
- “Your music is not the type I like so you shouldn’t play it. In fact, you should only play your music privately, in a sound-proof room, where no one else can hear it.”
- You don’t take photos of MY favorite things. Why are you even bothering to share your photos on social media? If you HAVE to take photos, you should keep them private. Put them in boxes in your closet or attic or something.”
- You didn’t paint in the style I prefer and aren’t using MY favorite colors. Seriously, why do you insist on painting? Why are you sharing your art with others? Keep your artwork for your own private enjoyment.”
- I don’t like your dancing. You should stop. Or do it where no one can see you.
I don’t feel that way about others’ creativity at all. I also don’t consider people’s creative expressions to be about me. People may share pieces of themselves with me, but it’s about them–what THEY see, feel, think, struggle with. They are allowing me a glimpse into their world. The belief that everything someone does has to meet with MY approval, with MY taste, is extremely self-centered. Likewise, to be told that I should not write as I do or, if I must write, that I should not share it, is very hurtful and discouraging. Although I am determined to be myself, sometimes it’s a struggle to write about deep, vulnerable things that others might find ugly or worthless. Writing is risky because a writer makes himself so vulnerable. As Patrick McManus wrote
“Writers live with fear. Some writers cannot deal with the fear, and so they quit or refuse to publish. In order to write, you must either ignore the fear or trick it into leaving you alone. The fear is very sly, though and hard to trick. The fear in writing comes from exposing your thoughts, your emotions, your experiences, your ideas, your talent, your intelligence and ultimately your self to public scrutiny and possible scorn. The fear is by no means groundless. You have opened yourself up to the possibility of public humiliations…I sometimes wonder if perhaps the greatest novel ever written isn’t gathering dust in some filing cabinet somewhere, simply because its author could not overcome the fear of having it published.”
I write with a variety of purposes: On social media I sometimes share my thoughts or opinions about what is happening in the world. I don’t share these things on my blog because I think sometimes people need a break from the chaos in the world. Also, I have some PTSD from abuse and writing about good things in my world helps me stay grounded. However, I have occasionally written about the things I struggle with–about abuse, about anxiety. Sometimes in writing about the “ugly” stuggles, I can gain understanding and clarity for myself. Sometimes I write about struggles because I hope it can help others going through similar things. I’ve tried at times to keep my writings private, safe. I even have a very private blog in which I write only for myself. But I rarely write in it because for some reason, I need to know that what I write is “out there.” It’s like I need to reach my hand out and feel there might be another hand reaching back. I think it’s an INFJ thing.
To non-writers, or to people who only share happy things, writing about the ugly struggles can appear to be…well, ugly, and unnecessary. But I’ve been comforted and strengthened by people who have risked sharing their stories of pain and struggle. And, over the years, I’ve had people say to me, “I came to you because I know you’ve had similar experiences and you would understand…” They know because I risked telling them. Once a man at church came up to me and gave me a huge hug. I was startled because I didn’t know him well. He told that he came home from work one day that week and found his wife sitting on the floor sobbing. In her hand was a printed copy of something I had written that touched her deeply, that was relevant to something she had suffered, that caused her to have an emotional break-through. He thanked me profusely. Things like that make writing worth the risk.
Here are some quotes about writing that I love because they express how and why I write:
“Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.”
~ William Wordsworth
“Write about the emotions you fear the most.”
~ Laurie Halse Anderson
No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise in the writer, no surprise in the reader.”
~ Robert Frost
“Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.”
~ William Shakespeare, Macbeth
“I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking, what I’m looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear.”
~ Joan Didion
“The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them — words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they’re brought out. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you’ve said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That’s the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller but for want of an understanding ear.” ~ Stephen King
“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”
~Maya Angelou
“I can shake off everything as I write; my sorrows disappear, my courage is reborn.”
~ Anne Frank
When there are too many words
inside of my head, I cannot sleep.
They rattle around making all sorts of noise
Until I pluck them out of my mind
and put them on paper.
My voice refuses to be silenced
by a downy pillow.
~Christy Ann Martine
As the Apostle Paul said in Romans 12, God has given us different abilities and gifts. One can’t say to another that their gift is bad or unnecessary. I believe that we have to be very careful that we aren’t discouraging others from using their gifts. Just because it’s not how YOU express yourself, doesn’t mean it’s not the way someone else does. Just because it doesn’t reach YOU, don’t mean it doesn’t reach someone else.
I think that relationships can’t survive where there is too much criticism. I cannot BE where there is no room to breathe.
“Do not hold your breath for anyone,
Do not wish your lungs to be still,
It may delay the cracks from spreading,
But eventually they will.
Sometimes to keep yourself together
You must allow yourself to leave,
Even if breaking your own heart
Is what it takes to let you breathe.”
~ Erin Hanson
Thanksgivings
It looks as if winter has finally arrived. It’s been snowing all day–not heavily, but steadily–and we are expecting snow for several more days. I got out my next-level winter footwear. I’ve never been one who cares all that much for fancy shoes and clothes, but I do have some for different types of weather. In the summer I have sneakers that I can slip on to go to the coop in the summer, muck shoes for going to the coop when it’s muddy, and muck boots to wear in the winter. When I take Hannah for a walk down the driveway, I have nicer sneakers in the summer, hiking boots when there’s just a little snow, and heavier, taller boots where there is more snow. I have nice sneakers and nice boots to wear when I go to town. I have similar clothing: No coat in the summer (duh), and then increasingly wear warmer sweatshirts, sweaters, jackets, and coats as the weather gets colder. I also have a light chore coat for cool weather and a heavy chore coat for cold winter weather. LOL.
A couple of weeks ago I moved the Mama Hen and her two babies from the doghouse to the bigger fancy coop, both of which are in the shed that is the main coop. I was prepared for it to be a difficult move, but it went very easily: I grabbed a chick and put it in the fancy coop, carried Mama over, and then grabbed the second chick. Easy peasy. Now the chicks will have more room to run around as they grow. None of the main flock is outside today. They aren’t particularly fond of wintry weather.
Thursday was Thanksgiving Day here in the USA. I hope everyone had a pleasant holiday. I know the holidays can be a difficult time of year for many people–because of loneliness, grief, or family conflict.
Our Thanksgiving was very nice. Knowing that we’d be alone, EJ’s work friend invited us to his home for Thanksgiving but EJ politely declined. I always loved my large family’s holiday gatherings and I really missed them when I became the black sheep of the family (long story). However, as we have grown older, EJ and I have deeply appreciated a quiet, peaceful day without drama or stress. EJ and I divide up the preparation for our meal so it’s not too much work for either of us. EJ always cooks the turkey and this year he also made a pumpkin and mincemeat pie. He also baked the squash, which he had grown in our garden. I made homemade rolls, fixed the stuffing, and did all the cleanup afterward. Friday we ate more of the leftovers. We felt as if we had a food hangover–too full and sluggish–and we took naps. EJ often naps in his lazy-boy chair, but I nap in our bed. Hannah always joins me, going under the blankets and curling up next to me. Little Bear (our cat) follows us in and curls up under my chin. It’s very cozy.
Our son works on a Great Lakes bulk carrier. During the shipping season, he works for a month and then gets two weeks off before he heads back again. He has been on the ship through most of November and will disembark around December 7th. The ship’s cook prepared a Thanksgiving meal for the crew–the day after because they were busy on Thanksgiving day–but it’s not the same as having it at home so we are going to have a second Thanksgiving with him and his girlfriend on December 9. That will be fun.
Our son occasionally calls while he’s on the ship and sends us photos and videos. I really enjoy his stories of life aboard the ship. He called last night and had us laughing with his tales–although some of them are funny because we know everything turned out well. Work on a ship is hard and dangerous–although there is beauty as well.
In a chat group I interact in at Telegram, the admin asked last about people’s Thanksgiving plans. I told about our first and second Thanksgiving plans, and about my son working on the ship. I shared some of the lighter moments–such as my son waving as his ship sailed by a webcam and his description of watching a meteorite shower in the middle of the Great Lakes where there was nothing to dim or block the sight. This eventually morphed into a discussion of The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald that occurred on Lake Superior on November 10, 1975. All 29 members of the crew were lost. I think the tale might have been forgotten, just one of many shipwrecks, except that Gordon LIghtfoot wrote a haunting ballad about it, with descriptions so vivid that it feels as if you were there. There are many videos of the song, but my favorite is this one, which shows actual footage of the ship, news, radio communications, and names, photos, ages, and jobs of the crew members who were lost.
Some of the people had this to say in the comments under this video:
“I was stationed at Sault Ste. Marie, MI in the U.S. Coast Guard. I was on duty that night in Captain of the Port. The winds that day were unreal, 90 miles an hour. 35 foot seas. The captain of the Arthur M. Anderson, another lake freighter, radioed that he had lost sight of the Fitzgerald, said that it should have passed within a mile of him. He said that a wave crest came up and when it went down they saw nothing, no more lights. I remember the Officer of the Day saying, “I think we lost a ship” This kind of thing didn’t happen. I feel a sadness as I write this, remembering. It brings a tear to my eye.”
“This song isn’t only a tribute to the 29 sailors but to men of industry who’ve paid an ultimate price in pursuit of livelihood. Our country was built and is being maintained by men like these and we lose some from time to time. Songs like this are very cathartic when remembering refinery workers lost to explosions, miners who are trapped and road workers struck by vehicles to name a few. We all expect to come home from work each day and enjoy the fruits of our labors. This song pays homage to anyone lost at work.”
“Showed this today to my 7/8 grade choir as a part of history of this date, and they sat SILENT through the entire thing. Was pretty cool to see that Gordon Lightfoot did that 45 years later to a bunch of middle schoolers!!!”
Another version I like is the reaction of an Aussie as he listens to The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald for the first time. He has a lot of questions, many of which people answer in the comments section. You can hear it here: An Australian Reacts to the Wreck of the Edmund Fitzerald.
In the chat group discussion, I commented that a year or so ago our son worked on the sister-ship of the Edmund Fitzgerald. A couple of weeks ago, our son said his ship had a drill in which the crew had to try on their survival suits. Lake Superior is so cold that without the survival suits, a person will last maybe 5 minutes if they go into the water. With the survival suits, they will last around 20 minutes, which still isn’t much time to be rescued. Someone in the chat group responded, “When I hear [Gordon Lightfoot] ask where the love of God goes when the waves turn minutes to hours? It breaks my heart as a former coast guardsman boat and later SAR [Search and Rescue] aircrew, we know how precious that time is to get to those in peril, more times have we never found survivors or they had perished before we got there.”
I’ve been praying for the safety of the ships and crew, but the man’s comment brought in a whole new depth and perspective so now I am also praying for the safety of the rescuers.
Practically Chicken
After weeks of rain, with a few snowflakes mixed in now and then, it looks as if the weather is going to be quite nice this week with daytime highs climbing into the mid-50s by Wednesday. There’s no rain in the forecast so maybe the chicken pen will dry out and I won’t sink into the muck whenever I walk out to the coop.
Our two little chicks are growing up. Except for their downy heads, they now have mostly feathers so they almost resemble tiny adults. We won’t know for several more weeks if they are male or female. It’s impossible at this point to tell their gender because they all look the same. The chicks are still obeying Mama and they back away when I open the door to their shelter to replenish their food and water.
On one of EJ’s days off last week, we went shopping at the thrift stores, which is one of our favorite things to do because it’s like treasure hunting AND we can buy good quality items much more cheaply than we could buy them new from retail stores. We always look for books, of course. An extra bedroom in our house is actually our home library/office. Except for the space where we have a desk and file cabinets, all the walls are lined with bookshelves full of books. A person can never have enough books. EJ and I often comment that we are very rich because we own books. The closet is filled with my yarn and craft supplies.
On this last trip to the thrift stores, I bought several pairs of jeans. The ONLY beneficial thing about high inflation is that we can no longer afford to buy snack foods and with EJ’s mini-stroke, we are being even more careful about our diet. This means that we are losing weight. I haven’t had a bathroom scale in years (because they are depressing) but I can tell I am losing weight from the way that my clothes fit. Jeans that were beginning to fit snugly are now very baggy. I have very few jeans the next size down, one of which is too ripped to wear in public and which I only wear when I have to do a very dirty job such as clean out the coop. I thought it was time to get more jeans. It’s not easy for me to find jeans at a thrift store because I am 5’4″ and regular-length jeans are too long for me but I found FOUR pairs of jeans that fit. I’m all set now.
Over the years EJ and I have gone through difficult times and have had to learn to live frugally. It’s been difficult at times, but God has taken care of us. For example, one year EJ’s company downstate gave employees a choice between being laid off or continuing to work at a one-third reduction in pay. EJ’s co-workers thought he was crazy when he chose to continue working because they were making as much on unemployment as he was working. However, EJ wanted to keep our health insurance. It would have been difficult enough to make it on reduced pay but during that time, our furnace died, our car died, and our roof started leaking badly. It was amazing how God took care of these needs with many “small” miracles. We had a woodstove to heat our house and we were able to buy slab wood from the local sawmill. The owner would put us at the top of the list whenever we needed wood. Sometimes, when we had only enough wood left for one day, a trailer full of wood would mysteriously appear. A friend lent us their extra vehicle. Also, our roof was re-shingled for the amount that we had in our savings account, which wasn’t much and was far less than a roof should have cost. After that year, EJ’s company went back to paying EJ’s full pay and, for some reason, they decided to pay him back pay as well. We’ve had many experiences like that. I’m thankful, as times are tough and likely will get tougher, that we had those experiences of learning to live frugally and experiencing God taking care of us.
Grocery shopping is really difficult because prices are so shockingly high. We winced when we see the prices of food. We almost can’t endure putting items in our cart. Yikes. But this is November, Thanksgiving is approaching, and turkeys are on sale. During this month we can get a whole turkey for much, much cheaper than chicken breasts and thighs. We can buy a turkey at around 55 cents per pound instead of chicken at several dollars per pound. Turkey is practically chicken and can be used in any chicken recipe. Last week we cooked a turkey that had been in our chest freezer since last year. When it was cooked, I cut up the meat, separated it into freezer bags, and put most of the bags in the freezer. I take out a bag whenever I need poultry for a meal.
The store limited customers to buying one turkey per visit so last week EJ stopped at the store on his way home from work every evening and bought one turkey, which we put in our big chest freezer. We now have six turkeys in the freezer and one in the fridge that we will cook soon and separate into bags for the freezer. That’s not counting the one we will buy closer to Thanksgiving Day for our feast. In difficult times, a person has to find creative ways to be frugal.
We kind of “accidentally” started buying extra turkeys in 2020. With all the shortages that year, we weren’t sure turkeys would be available so we bought a turkey at full price in early November. A week or so later, stores started having awesome sales on turkeys and we couldn’t resist buying another, and another, ending up with four. One we cooked for Thanksgiving and the others we stored in our freezer and cooked occasionally throughout the year. Those “accidental” extra turkeys caused us to think outside the box: turkeys were not “only” for Thanksgiving Dinner. After that, we bought extra turkeys every November although not so many as this year.
Apparently, we aren’t the only ones with the idea of buying extra turkeys in November. EJ read on the internet of others do the same.
I thought Hannah Joy was adjusting to setting the clock back but apparently I was wrong. Last week, at the time she used to eat (5 p.m. which is now 4 p.m. with the change in time), I was busy fixing supper and Hannah was well-behaved as she patiently waited. But yesterday, one of EJ’s days off, I was not busy when she expected to be fed (4 p.m.) and she had a meltdown. I swear that she sometimes acts like a tired, cranky toddler. She grew increasingly vocal, increasingly loud, and increasingly shrill when I didn’t feed her RIGHT THIS MINUTE because she was STARVING TO DEATH! She pawed at me and passive-aggressively got right in my personal space. She kept it up for an hour. I refused to give in. I am not going to feed her at 4 p.m. because then it would be more difficult for her to wait until breakfast at 7 a.m. In previous years I had originally fed her at 7 a.m. and 6 p.m. but last Spring when we set the clocks ahead I messed up my calculations and ended up feeding her at 5 p.m. I couldn’t remember if 6 p.m. old time was 7 p.m. or 5 p.m. new time. I think I’m going to renew my efforts to feed her at the same time of day regardless of what the clock says. I did tell Hannah yesterday that she could always write a letter to the editor–or the governor–with demands that they stop messing with time. It would make it easier for all of us.
Rant Time
The clocks were all set back an hour last night, which has put me in a cranky mood. I loathe the biannual clock resetting farce, which I think is totally nonsensical and was designed by sadistic, psychopathic politicians to disrupt life. I’ve often heard the rationalization for resetting the clocks as “It originally helped conserve candles” or “It helps out the farmers.” But it’s been many generations since we depended on candles to light our homes and, as EJ says, “Tractors have had headlights for many years, and cows are milked at the same time every day regardless of what the clocks say.” So let’s just leave the cotton-pickin’ clocks alone!
Now I have to readjust our routines. It’s difficult enough for us humans to get used to the change of time, but it’s more difficult for animals–especially for Hannah Joy, who thrives on routine. We feed her twice a day–at about 7 a.m. and 5 p.m. She’s mostly ok with her breakfast time being a little flexible if I happen to sleep a little later. She knows she’s fed after I take my shower. However, she expects supper to be exactly on time and she begins to complain if I’m late. I used to try to recalculate her supper time when the clocks changed so that she was fed at the same time of day even if the clocks said differently. But it got so confusing–is the old 5 p.m. now the new 6 p.m. or 4 p.m.?– that I finally gave up and just tried to feed her at 5 p.m. according to the clock throughout the year. That means that for a few days each year, until she adjusts, her evening meal is going to be an hour late, which means she’s going to be in a cranky mood. Join the club, Hannah dear.
Someone at Telegram shared this: “Did you know that the Sunshine Act, which would end all this clock
switching nonsense and keep us on the Summer clock, has been pending for years? 88% of the people surveyed want to quit screwing with the clock. Many states have already passed an end to Daylight Saving but it’s against federal law for them to actually stop. Such a small thing, and a popular one. Seems like something that cuts across all party and political leanings. Yet, still, we change our clocks and lose tens of millions of hours of productivity and quality of life while our internal clocks adjust.”
Rant time is over.
On August 1st we opened the gate and let the chickens into the garden. We always let them in between harvest and planting when nothing is growing. They enjoy meandering through the garden, gleaning whatever is leftover.
With colder weather, I’ve begun shutting Theo in with the chickens at night. The chickens’ body heat helps warm the coop so I thought it would be better for Theo than the big unheated garage–especially since he has no feline friends to cuddle with. The last time I contacted the cat rescue lady she said that she planned to bring the three cats we plan to adopt the “next week.” But that was early October. We’ve been waiting for the cats since mid-summer and I’ve about given up hope that we will ever get them. I’m at the point of “If she brings them she does. If she doesn’t, she doesn’t.” Meanwhile, I take Theo into the cozy coop at night. Besides being warmer, he can go hunting if any rodent is foolish enough to come out of hiding. Theo gets along with the chickens ok, but I let him out in the morning before the chickens are fully awake and moving about.
I’ve begun giving the chickens their winter dole of cracked corn. The corn raises the chickens’ body heat as it’s digested, which also helps warm the coop. We have two roosters–our alpha rooster is named Sassy and the other one is Corey. Last year I noticed that Sassy kept chasing poor Corey away from the corn so after I scattered the corn for the flock, I took a covert handful and sprinkled it in an out-of-the-way spot for Corey. He got so he used to wait for me to give him his secret portion. I was surprised when Corey waited for me to again bring him his covert handful since the chickens haven’t had corn since it warmed up last May. He remembered all these months. I think animals are a lot smarter than most people realize.
Our little chicks are getting larger. They are still very downey, but they are beginning to get their feathers. One of the chicks became bold and would rush the door to their shelter when I opened it to replenish their food and water. Two days in a row the chick quickly rushed the door and actually escaped into the larger coop area. I had to scramble to grab it and put it back in while it chirped in alarm. I don’t know if the adult chickens would harm it, but it is certainly small enough to get through the fence if it got outside. It would make a tasty nugget for a predator if it didn’t first disappear into the mud. I contemplated moving the little family into the larger fancy coop but the third time I started to open the door to their shelter, the Mama Hen started clucking angrily with ruffled feathers. I feared she was angry with me, thinking I had threatened her young one. However, it appears she was scolding her chicks because since then she’s been calm and the chicks have kept away from the door when I open it. She’s a very good Mama Hen. She teaches her young ones to behave.
Deer season begins on November 15. EJ usually goes hunting for a few days in the 100-acre woods that his friend’s family owns, but he decided to hunt here at home this year to save money. Every day when I walk Hannah Joy to the mailbox, I see flattened grass where deer have bedded down for the night. Occasionally, EJ sees the deer in the morning as he drives off to work. He’s even seen the Monarch of the Glen, which is what we call any massive deer with large antlers.
With hunting season nearing, we’ve begun wearing hunter’s orange hats when we go for walks and I dress Hannah in her hunter’s orange coat so she isn’t mistaken for a deer. The coat covers the length of her body. Besides the velcro and buckles that hold it in place on the front part of her body, it had elastic straps to go around her back legs so that it wouldn’t slide off her rump. You can see the bands and elastic straps in this photo from a previous year:
Hannah didn’t like the elastic straps so last week I cut them off and sewed on another strap to go under her belly back of the center of her body. At first, I sewed on a velcro strap because it would be faster to fasten and take off, but the velcro wasn’t strong enough and kept unfastening. I removed the velcro and instead sewed on a strap with buckles. It’s working fine. She looks lovely in her hunter’s orange coat.
Early last week we got a little snow–enough to cover the ground. Then the temperatures rose a bit (into the mid- and upper-40s) and all the snow melted. Tomorrow more rain is in the forecast. Our trees are now all bare except for a few that are stubbornly hanging on to their leaves.
Factory Reset
I’ve written a few times before that in the autumn, the trees in our Enchanted Forest surround us with various shades of gold to such an extent that it feels as if the air itself is golden. I’ve tried to take photos but I’ve been unsuccessful. I think that some forms of beauty cannot be captured in photos. However, I finally was able to take a photo that does pretty good at showing what I’m trying to describe. I used no filters or anything. Isn’t it beautiful?
The day after I took this photo, many leaves fell and the trees became noticeably barer.
The temperatures have been very warm–in the low 60s–but we are still getting rain, rain, rain. The chicken yard is saturated with water and I sink deeply into the muck with every step. I told EJ yesterday evening that if it continues to rain, I’m going to need waders. I’m surprised the chickens don’t sink into the muck, one by one, and disappear forever. I checked the forecast and it’s going to rain until Sunday evening…when the temperature plunges and the rain switches over to snow. It will soon be time to get out my warmest winter coats, hats, mittens, and boots.
Yesterday morning after we returned from EJ’s gym session at the hospital, I went out to the coop to remove the unhatched eggs from the maternity ward/nursery. I expected it to be a very dirty job so I wore my oldest ripped jeans, thinking that a hazmat suit might have been nice. I took a cat carrier with me in case I needed to put the Mama hen and her two chicks in it while I cleaned their area. I also grabbed an empty poultry feed bag from the garage as I headed out. Once in the coop, I laid the feed bag on the floor to kneel on because I didn’t want to risk kneeling in chicken poop. I actually didn’t need the cat carrier because Mama and her chicks moved aside as I reached far in for the unhatched eggs that were buried in the straw. Once I had retrieved the eggs, I put clean bedding in the shelter and replenished their food and water. The job only took a couple minutes and I didn’t even get dirty–although I put the jeans in the laundry anyway, just on principle.
Once each week for the last two or three weeks, I’ve been finding large dog treats in our mailbox. I thought the letter carrier was leaving it for Hannah, which was sweet, so I made a thank you card and put a (human) treat inside. On our way to EJ’s gym session yesterday, we paused to put it in our mailbox. When we returned from the gym, we noticed a dog treat wedged in our neighbor’s trash receptacle–the one the trash pick-up people provide. Then, suddenly, I realized that the trash people had left the dog treats and our neighbor who doesn’t have a dog had been putting them in our mailbox for Hannah. Our neighbor had tried to tell me last week that he was doing that. He shouted it to me while he was standing a ways off in his driveway. I couldn’t actually hear him–only a couple words like “trash” and “mailbox.” I didn’t want to go closer to him to better understand him because Hannah is such a handful around unfamiliar people and I knew the neighbor had once been bitten by a dog similar to her. So I just smiled, waved, and shouted back “OK” and moved on. I wonder what our letter carrier thought when she found the thank you note and treat? LOL. I feel rather embarrassed.
My phone had been increasingly announcing that it was running out of storage. Apparently, this is a common problem with Android phones. When I got that message in the past, I researched how to gain more storage, which alleviated the problem quite a bit. But this time I kept watching my storage steadily decrease even though I had deleted app caches and junk files, had all the apps I could move to my SD card along with my photos, had my photos backed up to the cloud, deleted almost all my apps, and even used the 9900 code to delete the log/cat files. At best I gained only a few MB and my storage continued to decrease until my phone screeched that storage was 100% full and my phone might not work properly. The next step was to do a factory reset to return the state of the phone to what it was like when it was new. I live-chatted with the cellphone company and the technician verified that I had done everything possible, a factory reset was needed, and doing so would resolve my storage problems. After making sure that doing a reset would not totally screw up my phone, after making sure my data was backed up, I took a deep breath and did the deed. It wasn’t that bad. I lost very little data. I now have all my favorite apps re-installed and still have approximately 15GB of storage available. It was a huge success and I forgive my phone for being so troublesome.
My favorite birthday gift is making memories and we spend the whole month of October enjoying the beautiful autumn, which is why we declare that we celebrate my birthday for the whole month. As October draws to a close, I’ve been thinking of other wonderful intangible gifts EJ has given me. One that comes to mind is the gift of “being angry.” That doesn’t sound like much of a gift, but it is. I remember as a child that when I wanted to confront a sibling about something, my Mom would say, “Let it go. Don’t rock the boat. Don’t make it worse.” I don’t get angry often but unresolved hurts/problems would remain hidden where they would slowly accumulate into a bigger problem that when finally expressed would be explosive. I learned that expressing anger was hurtful and I hate hurting people–or being hurt when someone explodes at me. But one day EJ told me that he would prefer that I express my anger, resolve the issues, and move on. We rarely get angry and we are still careful about causing unnecessary damage when we are, but it’s very freeing and healing to be able to say “You hurt me when you did this” and have the other say, “Oh, I’m sorry! I’ll try not to do that again.” Or, conversely, to recognize that it was ME that was in the wrong because I misunderstood what the other said or did. Whether he is wrong or I am, the issue is addressed, resolved, forgiven, and forgotten. That is a gift.
I don’t enjoy it, but I don’t mind if someone confronts me about something. However, I find it very frustrating when a person confronts me but refuses to allow me to also confront him/her. I’m thinking of one of my sisters who, even as an adult, used to occasionally get mad at me and completely rip me to shreds. She vehemently listed all the faults, failures, and sins she felt I had committed and then she’d finish with, “Now that we’ve addressed this, let’s promise to let it go and never mention it again.” Fine, only SHE was the only one who aired her grievances. She never gave me an opportunity to offer a response, an explanation, or a defense. Finally, after many years of “letting it go and never mentioning it again,” I told her that I loved her very much but we BOTH needed to have an opportunity to air grievances because otherwise the issue is not really dealt with. It remains hidden, festers, and eventually would ruin our friendship, which I didn’t want to happen–and which eventually did. It hurts me deeply to be unable to address and resolve issues. Unresolved issues erode and ruin friendships. Relationships grow stronger when both are free to confront and clear up hurts and misunderstandings.
I think it’s very similar to having a phone whose internal memory is being clogged with hidden issues which eventually causes the phone to work improperly. Sometimes we need to delete caches, junk files, and other storage stealers–and maybe even do a factory reset–in our lives as well as our phones.
Just something I’m thinking about.
Autumn Gold
We’ve had days of rain. Weeks of rain. Perhaps as much as a month of rain. Once in a while, we get a break from the rain. Like today. But then it’s back to rain, rain, and more rain.
The chickens scratch up the dirt in their pen and the rain turns the dirt into a morass of smelly muck that sucks at my muck shoes. When not covered with mud, my muck shoes are a cheerful yellow with drawings of chickens on them. I try to scrap the mud off the shoes before I enter the house with limited success. I used to take the shoes off in the hallway, but Hannah Joy likes to lick the boots so I switched to taking them off in the pantry/storage room where she can’t get to them. The pantry door is next to the garage door so I actually track in less mud. I’m certain the term “boot-licker” must come from dogs licking boots. It’s a disgusting habit.
The temperature is chilly enough now that we keep our furnace on and we wear our coats whenever we go outside, although it hasn’t yet gotten cold enough for us to wear our warmest winter coats and mittens. I thought that the days of warmer temperatures were over until next Spring. However, later this week the temperatures are forecasted to rise into the 60s. Michigan weather is temperamental.
We are now into the peak color of autumn, which is breathtakingly beautiful. The trees of our Enchanted Forest tend to be various shades of gold. In the early morning and evenings, the gold of the trees turns the air itself golden, which is beautiful. I tried to take a photo of it, but photos pale in comparison to the true beauty of the trees. I love autumn.
Our garden is pretty much finished for the year. I think we still have some squash to harvest and then we can let the chickens back into the garden to glean whatever is left. We have some green tomatoes, but they will never ripen so we are leaving those also.
A couple days ago we disconnected the garden hoses so we could put them away. This means that I now have to lug water for the chickens in a watering can. It’s easier to use the hose, of course, but it’s not that big of a chore. Even if it was a huge chore, it has to be done so I shrug and do it.
We ended up with two little chicks. There were three more eggs in the nest, but the hen wasn’t consistently sitting on them so I think they didn’t make it. I keep the hen and the eggs in the maternity ward for their safety. I don’t know if the other chickens would hurt then and I know they would be a tasty morsel for predators. I’ll let them all out when the chicks are bigger. It sure is fun to watch the little ones. I took this video a week ago. For some reason, it’s slightly distorted, but it’s good enough. You can hear Theo meowing in the background. He often follows me into the coop when I go out to do my chores
Once each week for about 2-3 weeks, we’ve been finding a large treat in our mailbox–obviously from the letter carrier who delivers our mail. We’ve never been left treats before so I wonder if we got a new letter carrier? Or maybe the old one just spotted Hannah one day. Our driveway is very long so we never really see who delivers our mail. Hannah loves the treats, and it’s so kind of the letter carrier to leave them, that I made a card “from Hannah” with a treat inside. We will leave it in the mailbox on Thursday, which is the day we find the treats. That way we can be pretty certain that the same letter carrier is getting the letter and treat.
After dark yesterday evening I took Hannah outside for the final time before bedtime. As soon as we got outside, she yanked her leash because there was a large possum near the herb garden. I was so surprised that I screamed a bit. Not really a scream as much as a yelp of exclamation. EJ said that he heard me scream (yelp) and saw me suddenly disappear (as Hannah yanked me forward). He thought I had fallen so he rushed out of his chair to help me. LOL.
EJ continues to go to exercise at the hospital gym twice a week. I go with him because he likes the company and we often do errands after his session since we are in town. I would walk around the little track while at the gym, but the staff told EJ that they can’t let me unless I have permission from my doctor. I haven’t had a doctor in eight years so <shrug>. When we first moved up here, I researched doctors and had a New Patient Appointment with one with high reviews. She was so awful–interrupting me before I could answer her questions, wanting to give me a bunch of tests to try to find if I had any issues when I didn’t have any complaints, and writing a prescription for dangerous drugs over my objections–that I haven’t been back to a doctor since. I’ve been very healthy so <shrug>. At the hospital gym, I sit at a table drinking coffee while I read a book or use my phone to study Hebrew or read the news until EJ is finished exercising. I feel a bit like a party pooper because everyone else is exercising, but <shrug>.
Hello World
The world is getting more and more insane. I’ve been paying attention but I need a break so I’m stepping back from the news for a bit to focus on good things.
We have chicks!!!!!
I think a chicken egg hatches in 21 days. I couldn’t remember exactly when I suspected our hen was broody, but I thought it was surely longer than 21 days. Just when I gave up hope and was going to let the hen out of her “maternity ward,” I thought I heard a soft chirp-chirp-chirp. I didn’t see anything, though, and wondered if it had been my imagination. Then, finally, a few days ago, I saw a chick! It is very tiny. EJ exclaimed that it’s about the size of a golf ball. A day or so later, I saw TWO chicks! There are about three more eggs in the nest. It would be cool if they also hatched although the hen isn’t sitting on them as constantly as she was. We shall see.
We’ve bought chicks from the farm store several times, but we’ve never before had a hen hatch her own eggs. It’s a unique experience watching the hen with her chicks. I don’t see the chicks often because they hide under their Mama. So sweet. It’s nice to see new life in the midst of world chaos.
As you know, my son is working as a deckhand on a bulk carrier on the Great Lakes. People enjoy watching ships and there are live stream cameras set up in various places around the Great Lakes to enable people to watch them in real time. Each separate camera is aired on a YouTube channel. This enables EJ and I to watch our son’s ship as it passes the cameras. People chat at YouTube as they watch the ships. Admins operate the cameras and share info about each ship going by.
The other day, my son messaged that he was on bow watch at the front of the ship. I told him to wave as his ship passed one of the cameras. Then in chat I asked the admin if he could zoom in the camera because our son was on bow watch. He happily agreed and we saw our son waving. I took a screenshot. and was able to record that part of the livestream using my phone to video the computer screen. My son waving was also mentioned on the boat-watching Facebook page. LOL.
So then at the next camera/channel a short time later, someone mentioned that they had seen a guy waving from the “doghouse” and they wondered if he was still there. I replied, “That’s my son. I told him to wave as he went by. He’s still there.” At the next camera that the ship passed–the next day–the admin zoomed in specifically to search for my son on board, even without me asking. We got to watch him work on the ship. Before trees blocked our view, we saw him prepare to swing over the side of the ship in the bosun chair to moor it while they waited their turn through the locks. Here is an example of a deckhand swinging down in a bosun chair in this video that I found at Youtube.
So it appears that JJ is becoming a bit well-known. And, of course, the admins are beginning to know that we, his parents, watch for him. There is more of a connection when you know someone–even indirectly–who is working on a ship. I tell JJ, “People are watching for you!” We think it’s rather funny and it’s fun. Technology that lets us watch our son as his ship passes in real time is amazing.
Transition
Every year at this season, we try to see how long we can endure before we turn on the furnace. The longer we can endure, the less propane we will use, which means that we will save money on fuel. Usually I get tempted to turn on the furnace sometime in late September. However, this September was quite warm and I didn’t even think of turning on the furnace until yesterday when the temperatures plunged from 80 to the 40s. The temperature is forecasted to remain in the 40s until Thursday when it will rise to 55. We turned the furnace on last night but only very low. We want the furnace to come on if the temperature drops into the 30s during the night because we don’t want to risk our pipes freezing.
It rained yesterday and is supposed to rain most of this week. The forecast had said that we could also have a chance of snow, but then the meteorologists changed it back to all rain.
We’ve been seeing multiple flocks of geese flying overhead as they prepare to fly south for the winter. It feels as if we are in the transition time between summer and winter.
Last Wednesday EJ had his first full exercise session at the hospital gym. There is a large athletic center in the same town as this hospital, but I think the hospital gym feels better, feels friendlier. The others using the hospital gym are also older geezers who are all there for their health. There is more of a sense of camaraderie rather than competition. The staff is supportive and has both athletic and medical training. Plus, if there’s a medical issue, we are already at the hospital. After his exercise session, EJ said that he felt really good. He was supposed to also exercise on Thursday but he had to work. (He normally works four 10-hour shifts, getting Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays off.) He’s contemplating working this Thursday as well to build up our meager savings because eventually we are going to start getting hospital bills.
Friday was my birthday. Years ago I decided that the best birthday gifts are memories, not things, so we started going on long drives to enjoy the beautiful autumn colors for my birthday, sometimes stopping in at cider mills or other unexpected places. We couldn’t always celebrate my birthday on the actual day so we chose the nearest weekend or a day when we knew autumn colors were at their peak. Because my birthday celebration was spread out, eventually the whole month of October became filled with birthday celebrations. Now, anything good and pleasant in October is “my birthday gift.” Going on a beautiful drive is my birthday gift. Stopping at a thrift store is my birthday gift. Seeing geese flying overhead in a v formation is my birthday gift. Picking vegetables from the garden is my birthday gift. Everything is a gift. It’s rather fun to consider everything a gift. We tried to have a month of birthday celebration for EJ, but his birthday is in March when the weather is still cold and snowy. Instead, since we both enjoy making memories together, October has become his honorary birthday month.
For my birthday this year, we went to a thrift store, which we love to do. We also bought a small carton of Moomer’s ice cream, which is the most delicious ice cream ever. Since EJ has to carefully watch his diet, he bought himself a carton of yogurt.
Today I took the last two straw bales from the garage into the coop. I hadn’t put them in before because I didn’t want to block the second little chicken door. However, with cooler weather, I no longer open that door.
Our new barn cats are supposed to be delivered this Thursday or Friday. There’s been a long delay in getting the cats to us because of some unexpected problems–including a tornado that destroyed the home of one of the cat foster moms. I had originally thought to get only one cat as a friend for Theo, but then I decided to get two. The cat rescue lady told me that the two cats she planned to bring us were named Sammy and Prissy. Then she told me that Prissy had a close friend named Tom. EJ said, “We can’t break up a friendship” so we decided to also adopt him. Often I rename pets that we adopt, but I like these names well enough to keep them. Years ago we had a cat named Tom so EJ suggested that to avoid using the same name, we could call our new cat Tom-Too or maybe Tom-Two. I’m not sure which spelling EJ would prefer, but the pronunciation is the same either way.
I Love To Go A Gardening 