Lose Weight and Gain Brain Cells in 30 Days

By ZedZap

Are you nuts? my friend asked.

I’d just told her I signed up for National Write A Novel in a Month (NaNoWriMo).  The entire month of November was to be dedcated to writing a 51,000 word novel.

Well, it did seem kind of crazy since it was Nov 6 on the day I signed up.

It didn’t help that I took off 12 days to fly around the midwest and pester relatives.

When the clock struck midnight on Nov 30, I’d only logged 35,000 words, but I was goofy-glad with some discoveries.

1. The #1 being:  When you have an overwhelming job, just jump in and start.
2. For heaven’s sake, don’t stop and look around. You’ll discover you’re in a big freakin’ pile of work, so just keep going.
3. Decide that there are more important things than projects and enjoy people.

What I ended up with is a raucous, bawdyl romp through the classics that we were forced to read in high school. The Hulk. Dr Phil, and Nancy Drew were happy to join this great adventure, too.

So,  while I didn’t reach 51,000 words in 30 days, I’ll fininsh the last chapter this week.

Too bad I’ll still be nuts.

Bared to the Soul

I visited my mother.

On the first day, my mother didn’t know me when she saw me.

That was okay.  She’s collected a whole lot of birthdays.  She’s had a stroke. I’d prepared myself for such a possibility.

But then, sometime during the second day…she knew me.

I knew the moment it happened.

It wasn’t the “aha” moment I have with friends when I spot them in the grocery store. It was the quiet, solid locking of eyes when two people have shared the same experience. In that deep gaze, images came at me–rapid fire and plush with emotions: teenage arguments; late night talks, sewing lessons; snotty things I’d said…

In no particular order, wordless visions of our lives twined around each other as we stared.

She looked into my eyes and read the depths of my soul, asking me to understand all the words she  wasn’t  able to speak anymore.

“I know you,” was all the vocabulary she was able to say. All my courage and bravado crumbled.

I had prepared for my mother not knowing me.  I was unprepared for the depth at which she knew me.

I’m not for sure who my tears are for….her or me.

Hope is Taking a Second Look

I have this habit of reacting as soon as I hear something.  You know it always merits a second look.

It takes me time to shoulder a new habit, policy, or anything involving change.

I find when I stop and look at something from all angles, I usually come away with a different perspective…especially in dealing with people.

Most people are good when you finally see them.                                            Atticus Finch; To Kill a Mockingbird

Halloween Bunny Strikes Again

I’ve had several people send me carrot recipes.

You can see why….

Thanks Les for making this great photo

I’m not sure why I planted so many. I guess I was having a Scarlett O-Hara moment, feeling that  “Ah’d nevah be hungry again.”

I canned carrots. Froze carrots. I shaved carrots into all kinds of food…even brownies, until Scout and Dallas Cowboy found out and demanded no more healthy food additives for them.

Now, my latenights are busy with sneaking out and leaving carrots on folks doorsteps. BwahHaHaHa…

Beware!! The Easter Bunny is celebrating Halloween.

When You’re Not in Kansas Anymore, Dorothy

A Great Photo by PixieSticks23

It’s the garden’s fault.

First it was the raspberries. Millions of them, dangling like red jewels in the bushes.

Then a heat wave rolled into the valley, and like a Smucker employee, I was picking, jellying, and making cordial for days until…. well…often until morning broke the nightsky.

Then came blueberries, blackberries, peas, and the blessings kept sprouting out of the ground along with a few epiphanies.

Last night I was under the shade tree in the back yard snapping green beans. The thought came to me that this wasn’t as much fun as it used to be and I wondered why.

I have little-girl memories of sitting under the big ol’ elm, and everyone snapping  beans, slapping an occasional mosquito, and sharing their day.  Of course, we didn’t have air-conditioning, so sitting outside, hoping for a breeze to stir the baked air, was a nightly ritual.  We also put fireflies in jars, flipped june-bugs on their backs and watched them spin, and waited for the shift-change in insect hunting go from starlings to bats.

Now, I was under the tree with only the yard cat for company. Everyone else was inside, in airconditioning, watching TV, or in front of a computer.

I realized that the only reason I was sitting under the tree in the twilight was because that was how I had always snapped green beans as I grew up.  I hadn’t thought it through. I guess I thought everyone would drift outside to see what I was doing…in the heat…in the semi-darkness.

I felt kind of stupid.

Life changes. At least the bats still come out.

When Cyberspace Goes Silent

Family visits are never Silent

A good friend of mine told me he hadn’t ever read this blog. He didn’t have time.

He probably doesn’t have time.  He takes care of his elderly mother 16 hours a day and works the other 8 hours.  His life is full of all the little things that make living possible.

Have you ever taken care of some one who is elderly, ill, or broken? What astounds me is how much time it takes.  Even just to visit. Or if you do a bit more, it takes even more time to  make meals, to provide transportation,  take someone on one of their many trips to the doctor.

Then I realize it’s not just the ill who might appreciate a good story or a listening ear. There are the folks who are grieving.  Others who are lonely. And doesn’t everyone have a nutty relative who needs a visit, but you have to force yourself because their house has pathways through their collective years of newspapers and magazines.and the place smells because they never open the windows?

What would happen if instead of surfing, answering e-maills, or reading blogs, folks were spending time with real people.

Wouldn’t it be great if one day cyberspace was quiet, empty, deserted….. like an abandoned world you see in sci-fi movies because everyone was busy spending “face-time” with others.

How much could we accomplish? How many wounds could we comfort? It’s something to hope for.

Who will you visit this week?

Why Does the Sun Spit on the Ground?

I just came in from the garden. I graveled potatoes.

That’s what my grandmother always called it when we prodded the dirt around the plants, looking for baby potatoes, but left the plants intact so they could make big spuds, too.

“C’ mon” she’d say, “Let’s pick a mess of greens to boil these with.”

She never stepped outside without a bonnet. Never. Her arms were leathery and spotted, but her face was white and smooth like baby’s skin.

Since it was a hardscrabble farm, the only lawn she had was a patch fronting the dirt road that went by the house. The rest was trails through weeds, feedlots, and pasture. We’d wander around gathering a few leaves of dock, and as much Lamb’s Quarter as we could find. We never could find a lot.

“I guess we’ll have to use dandelion greens for the rest,” she’d say. No matter how dry it was—even when there were cracks in the earth—there were dandelions.  We’d only pick the small ones.  The big ones were too bitter.

I suppose they were medicinal. I have no idea what they were supposed to do, except remind me that in hard times, you make do with what you’ve got.

So now my taters are boiling along with a few sprigs of chives. (I figured Grandma wouldn’t mind if I spruced it up a bit.) I’m sitting back, staring at my lawn, dotted with golden flowers, and wondering how many dandelions I’d need to make wine?  As Grandma always said….

“Make do with what you’ve got.”

God Loves to Paint

by WVS

Nuff said.

Hope is a Long Road

The Long Road by WVS

I was on a walk a couple days ago when I met up with The Scoutmaster. About five years ago, this seasoned outdoors man taught my family how to do a 50-mile hike through the mountains and make it fun.

We’ve been hiking ever since.

He showed us how to pack our backpacks and trained along with us so we could endure.

Even though he tried to prepare us,  one of the things that we had to discover for ourselves was that a hike is as much a  mental task as it is physical.

My pack weighs about 40 pounds. I remember being about halfway up a mountain slope, when I stopped, cursed and yelled, “I quit!”

Of course, I felt pretty stupid when the echo of my voice came back to me because the only way to get off the mountainside was to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Even though I’ve done lots of short and long hikes since then, I’m still amazed at how far a person can  go when they  simply keep walking.  Our progress shouldn’t be surprising because there are so many examples around us. A jagged rock will smooth into a boulder under the constant drip of water.  A solid stone wall will become an arch with the drilling of unending gusts of wind.   To keep moving forward will allow us to finally reach our destination.

It seems that the same truth applies to life. If you keep pounding away at problems, you’ll get past them. Sure there’s blisters, and dry spells, and maybe even some yelling, but the biggest battle is the mental stamina to keep pushing on.

Hope is a long road. It’s not always straight, but thank the Lord, He put folks in our path to help along the way.

Thanks to all of you who’ve helped me along the path. And thank  you wise Scoutmaster for showing that the journey can be fun.

Cutting the Cord on Pain

By Bob Jagendorf

While visiting the wise and wonderful woman of the Nursing Home, I heard a woman down the hallway crying out…

“Help me… Help me.”

She often cries out.  Sometimes she’s in pain. Sometimes, she’s frightened. Sometimes she just wails and  no one can figure out what’s wrong. Today was one of those days that she couldn’t be comforted.

It brought up discussion.  If Jesus checked into a Nursing Home, do you think he’d heal everyone in there?

The wise and wonderful woman of the nursing home shook her head. She believes  that pain is part of life. It teaches us character and to count on something other than ourselves. “He’d help the soul, but not necessarily heal every body,” she says.

Now that I think about it, there’s pain with birth. Unavoidable pain that comes from simply  living, and many times pain in death. Perhaps cutting the cord on all pain, keeps us from the opportunity to grow. Hopefully there is a hand to hold when it becomes too much.  We learn to be there and link to each other to slog through the pain.

Perhaps it’s a cord we bind instead of cut?