Another Week in Paradise

Don’t you just love how you are just going through your life as best you can when it throws some whammies your way? And BAM! You are down for the count. I don’t know if it’s the same in your life but in mine it seems like a bunch of smaller whammies always precede the big one.

Take this past week for example. It started with my husband getting five unpaid days off from the brand new company that has taken over trucking at the plant where he works. We were told at the beginning that this would never happen. If the plant shut down they would be put to work at another one. Not.

We can’t afford five days off because this company pays per load not per hour as did the plant. Since it is a transition time, there haven’t been enough loads for anyone to make any money at. Add to the two week waiting time, the three months without insurance time, well, you get the picture. We made the best out of it and completed many around the house projects.

The night he went back to work (of course), the kitchen sinks clogs up and overflows while the dishwasher is running. I didn’t notice this because I was outside watering my flowerbeds.  I walked in to a flooded kitchen. Great.  Cleaned it up, poured stuff down the drain, waited, tried again, nope, went to store, got more stuff, poured it in, nope, took the pipes apart under the sink, cleaned them out, put them back, tried again, nope. I did manage to get it to drain in slow motion. So it drained all week until he could get to it.

The tiny paycheck he did get this week was supposed to be deposited automatically in our account. Although we were the first ones to get all the paperwork turned in and were promised that this was the week it would be done, it wasn’t. Causing an overdraw when our insurance payment was taken out.

In the meantime, getting the money off the payment card they gave him is enough to make even him go postal. He’s the calmest person I know! If you mess up you have to wait twenty four hours to try again. Meanwhile we’re looking in the couch for change to get him gas to go to work.

He gets gas, drives to Hermiston for work to be told that the trucks are now in Boardman (where we live) so he turns around and heads back. There went the ten dollars worth of gas we scraped together.

Despite my best efforts at annihilation, the ants are back in my kitchen and the flies on my back porch. My dogs were sprayed by skunks three times this week. Oh, goody! Let the summer games begin.

Oh, well, just another week in paradise as my husband says. At least we weren’t hit by a tornado. That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?

Up in Smoke

Recent elections have opened some doors towards the legalization of marijuana. And while I stand firmly against any legalization other than for medical issues (it is after all an herb). I'd like to see this issue in the federal governments hands rather than leaving this decision to individual states. I can't believe I just said that because I'm one of those who want the federal government to do less not more. But let me explain my views.

I live in Oregon. Medical marijuana is legal here. A doctor issues you a card saying that you are a medical marijuana user. This allows you to have possession of a certain amount of weed. You may also grow a fixed amount. If you are a dealer, all you need is a list of customers and copies of their medical cards. This allows you to grow, possess and distribute pot legally. That's it.

Before moving here I thought that the whole process would look more like this. Your doctor gives you a prescription, you take it to your pharmacy and get it filled just like any other medicine. Nope. You have to find a dealer to get your own and he's not in the yellow pages.

Cops think the whole system is a joke. They basically can't touch anyone who says that they are growing and dealing for “medicinal purposes”. Not if they have the paperwork and we all know how easy it is to get the paperwork.

We live across the river from the great state of Washington where it is legal to purchase pot right along with your groceries I guess. Actually, they are still trying to work that all out. One entrepreneur wants to get in on the ground floor and set up smoke shops that sound like a cross between a bookstore and a coffee shop.

I just read about one old farmer who thought he would get in on the ground floor. His state legalized medical marijuana so he planted a few fields. Problem was that his state is set up like mine. Small amounts are legal, large amounts are not. He assumed he would be selling his crops to pharmacies all over the place. He didn't know that the system didn't work that way. He was arrested and charged.

So, basically, in most of the states that have legalized pot for medicinal use, the only people profiting are the regular dealers. They are off the hook for growing and distributing as long as they do it in small batches and comply with the documentation. Around here, dealers have a number of small growing areas. They are using the same documentation for each one. No one is going to know unless all of them get found at once.

In other words unless the feds get involved, all we've done is make illegal dealing easier. If the federal government legalizes medicinal pot, it can regulate it and create a pharmacy type scenario, making the dealers illegal again and keeping farmers in the loop instead of jail. That's the view from my side of the street, what's yours?

I Hate Being a Girl

There are times when I just hate being a girl. Mind you, it doesn't happen very often because usually I love everything about being female. But every once in awhile...boom...it hits me. Today was one of those days. I just couldn't find something to wear. I hate when that happens. My husband can get up, throw on the first thing he grabs and go. Oh, how I wish it was that easy for me.

I'm on a diet (of course). I am losing weight(slowly, very slowly). I am enduring the moment when my husband sits on the couch with a container of ice cream and a big spoon while I nibble carrot sticks beside him. I am making meals and cookies and cakes for my family without even licking the spoons or my fingers. I should be so happy that I am so committed to making this work, right?

NO! Because anyone who has lost weight knows that it comes off in all the strange places first. Not only that but the rest of your mass shifts along with the loss. So jeans I have been wearing for several years suddenly won't allow me to zip and button even when I do the “ lay on the bed” thing. I tried on four pairs before I found something that fit! Monday is my weigh-in day and I should have been on a success high all day. Instead I feel like a hippo because my pants won't fit.

Belly fat is always the last to go. I now have to be careful what shirts I wear. I want to cover up my now protruding stomach so a lot of my tops aren't long enough. Of course, after a number of failed attempts, I'm frustrated beyond frustration. This is when the “I hate being a girl” feeling hits.

The worst of it is, why do I care what I'm wearing? Nobody but me and my family are going to see me. So it really shouldn't matter what I put on. This is the talk that I give to myself and the reasonable side of me agrees. It's just that female thing going on again. And I don't know about the rest of the girl world but I literally cannot continue my day until I have found the outfit that's just right. How crazy is that?

But the moment comes when I find it, do my makeup, put on my shoes and give a contented sigh. I feel and look good. There is the key. It doesn't matter how great we might look in something. It doesn't matter if everyone stares and tells you how gorgeous you are. It doesn't matter if you are dressed in designer clothes or jeans from Wal-Mart. If you don't feel good in it you won't like it. Period. Amen. That's the view from my side of the street, what's yours?

The "N" Word

Sometimes I can’t believe the way words just pop out of our mouths. Something being discussed on TV caught my attention while I was visiting a good friend recently. Pictures of a woman “addicted” to tanning beds were being shown. One showed her with a very dark face but her mouth and eyes stood out as white circles. I gasped in shock and cried, “Oh, my, gosh, she looks like a nigger!”

I realized moments later that was not the word I intended to say but since I couldn’t remember what I was trying to say, I kind of just left the “n” word hanging. In the middle of the night, I woke up suddenly- “a minstrel! That’s what I meant. She looks like a minstrel in a show.”

For those of my readers who don’t know- minstrels were performers. They were white people who blacked their faces, leaving big white circles around their eyes and mouth. They sang and danced in traveling shows. That was what this woman reminded me of.

I called my friend the next morning to apologize. How grateful I am for good friends!! She had a single thought when she heard me- “that doesn’t sound like Kathy, she must of meant something else.” God bless her!

And even though I didn’t mean that word, the fact remains that to those of us raised during a certain time in history, using the “n” word was an acceptable way of referring to those with black skin. Even black people used that word. My generation has made the journey from the “n” word to Negro to colored to black to African-American. Someday that will probably be considered offensive, too. These words are part of our history, culture and unfortunately our vocabulary.

Recent events have occurred that are destroying a woman’s life because she admitted to using that word in the past. Get your heads out of your self- righteous butts, people! As I’ve already stated, most of us born in certain years have used that word at one time or another. It was something we heard all the time. As children, we didn’t even know it meant anything bad.

 Paula Deen is not a terrorist. She has not killed anyone or committed a crime. She isn’t even very important but she is being persecuted for a slip of the tongue. How can that be right? I see her being discriminated against by people who swear they are against discrimination. Does that make any sense? Where is forgiveness and understanding?

Corporate America is made up of a bunch of chicken hearted hypocrites ready to throw anyone under the bus to avoid a loss of profit. They are cancelling her show rather than doing the right thing and defending the person who has made them tons of money. Have they ever heard of loyalty?

Finally, I am a Christian. I hate to hear the Lord’s name taken in vain. Using any form of God’s name as a swear word is offensive to me and millions like me. But nothing has ever been done about it. Books, movies, Facebook, even texts are full of those words. OMG is used by virtually everyone with no thought to the hurt it may cause many. Those of us offended are expected to suck it up and deal. Well, I think the rest of the world should be doing the same thing. Suck it up and forgive the woman. She doesn’t deserve this. That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?

Magical Memories

We are at our small town's beautiful marina and campground on our little piece of the Columbia River. It's breathtaking at this time of day. It is sunset. Today was a hot day but the wind is blowing (of course) and here by the river its cooler. The wind is causing waves which makes it look and sound like an ocean. It is impossible to be here and not relax. Even my twelve year old says it makes everything else seem unimportant.

There is a family barbeque going on to the far left of me. Closer to the water is a Little League game. The boys are small maybe just out of T-ball. How many of those games have I sat through I wonder. But the most amazing thing is the transformation in my young teen girls. Kelly (14) has a friend with her. Sarah(12) is off doing her own thing but all three of them have allowed the magic of the water work. They climbed rocks, waded in the river, played in the sand and are now holding hands and jumping the waves. Squeals of delight waft up to me. What happened to the bickering, snippity girls I rode with in my car?

They have been turned into children again. The sand has been dug into moats. They giggle as hand prints and foot prints disappear with the waves. They scream as they jump a wave and lose their balance, landing squarely on their butts neck deep in the “cold, dirty, disgusting water”.They want me to take pictures (of course).

I'm remembering other days spent here with other children. They are adults now. Some have children of their own. Many days were spent at the river. Many memories were made, also. Good ones, I hope. They were for me. And once again, I am reminded how short time is, how quickly it passes and how much I want to treasure each moment I have.

So I watch the girls who will soon be women and hope that they will not lose the ability to be childlike. In the future, they will bring their own children to the beach (wherever it is) and my prayer is that they will enjoy their memories and make wonderful new ones. That's the view from my side of the street, what's yours?

Split Personalities

I’ve been thinking about all the different people we are in a lifetime. Well, maybe not different people but we all play different roles during our lifetime. Some people see us in one way, others in another. Very few ever get to know all of us.

This thought began its germination when my father-in-law passed away. I listened to those who loved and knew him best and realized that they all knew him in different ways. The granddaughters he helped to raise knew him as a father figure. Other grandchildren knew him as a grandfather. All of them had such different memories and perceptions of him.

My husband’s ex-wife knew him from younger days as well as older ones. I only knew the older Alzheimer’s version of him. His children remembered the younger him as well as the older him. At times as they talked it seemed as if they were all talking about a different person. In a way, they were.

So, I began to think about the stages in my life. I pictured a group of people all gathered from my different years in a room talking about me. I could see confusion and arguments as each tried to reconcile the stories told by others with the me they had known. Whew!

People from my childhood probably remember a happy, helpful, imaginative, playful child. I played well with others and all by myself. Siblings probably remember the tense, scared, angry side that was always afraid to be at home. Cousins would remember a tempting, convincing child who taught them to snoop on adults, steal their liquor and instigated other types of troublemaking. None of them knew that I was carrying a deep dark secret…too huge for any child to carry.

Teachers would remember an intelligent , thinking child who always had her hand up and was never afraid to ask questions, often playing the devil’s advocate. High school friends would remember the funny, mouthy, daring, out there person who wasn’t afraid to stand up and be counted, and who usually spoke her piece regardless of who she was speaking it to. They would probably share stories about the wild, adventurous, seventies girl who was willing to try anything once. I was their hero but they were way too young to see the self- destruction and desperation behind the choices.

After high school I worked in nursing home settings, those people would remember an organized, efficient, caring, hard working young woman who insisted that those who worked with her were thorough in their care giving. They never got to see the drinking, drugging wreck I was at home.

Then I found the church and motherhood in the same year. And while I still privately fought my demons, I had help from God and a reason to carry on in my son. I found that happiness could be mine and I was a daughter of a loving Father in Heaven. Whoo-hoo! I never looked back! Those who knew me then remember a knowledgeable teacher, a willing worker, a devoted mom, and a great friend. I served in almost every position I could and gave birth to nine living children (and two dead ones).

My children, however, remember a crazy, unstable screaming meemie while I tried to do life with a crazy, controlling husband, my personal demons (which my husband exploited and fought hard to keep me from getting the help I truly needed) and a home that didn’t even have a bathroom until baby #6 was on its way. I hope they remember some good times because I tried so very hard but I’m afraid the bad times overshadow the rest.

And today, I’ve received the help I needed, married a wonderful man, have had a peaceful, “normal” life for at least three years. I’ve learned many new ways of coping with the world and again, the people that know me today would have a really hard time reconciling the today me with any of the others.

 And so it is in all our lives. We all have so many different roles to play or maybe I should say hats to wear. Seeing ourselves from the eyes of those around us help us to develop completely. It’s supposed to be that way, don’t you think? Kind of like looking in those surround mirrors to see our whole body at once.  That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?

Eating Crow

While waiting in a parking lot this morning, I saw a big, black crow fly and land on the pavement not too far from my car. He had a big white piece of some type of food in his mouth. There was another smaller black crow standing about a foot away from him. I expected a fight but the smaller crow just stood quietly watching him drop his food and begin eating. It occurred to me that “ it” might be a “she” and I wondered if they were a couple.

After a minute or two, he broke off some of the food and hopped towards her. She patiently stood by and politely accepted and ate the offering. This was so unexpected and unlike other similar events I have witnessed that I became sure that they were indeed mates. He hopped back to the food and again broke off a piece and returned to her. He went back, ate a few bites himself and headed back to share with her. This little ritual continued until the food was gone.

During this time, another crow ventured by. He left after observing the couple for a few minutes. Again, there was no fighting , no loud caws, nothing that I usually associate with crows. When the food was gone, the couple flew off quietly. I was stunned.

I was also very moved. Yes, I know that I'm crazy but it was a beautiful, romantic, touching scene. It was a demonstration of patience, kindness, generosity, thoughtfulness and caring. All attributes that are essential to a good marriage. The most outstanding attribute these crows showed was unselfishness. I happen to believe that selfishness is at the root of most if not all divorces. And troubled relationships of any kind...friends, neighbors,family, etc.

Webster's defines selfish as “concerned only to satisfy one's own desires and prepared to sacrifice the feelings, needs etc. of others in order to do so .” Wow! That kind of says it all right there, doesn't it?

Desires come in all shapes and sizes. Maybe we want (desire) to be right all the time. Maybe we want things to be done our way. Maybe we want to have things that we can't afford but we don't care what kind of strain that puts on the budget. Maybe we want our shortcomings to be overlooked but we want those around us to fix all of theirs. Maybe we always want to do the things we like and we want our partner or friend to do them too, forgetting that they might have their own idea of fun. Maybe we want control of the TV remote all the time. Maybe we think a magic genie follows around us and picks up our dirty socks, dishes, trash, etc. I think you are getting the idea.

Relationships can not hold up to the ever present pressure of selfishness. Instead, why don't we all strive to follow the lesson of the crows and learn to share, be kind and thoughtful, and to place the well being of others before our own. If birds can do it, I know we all can. That's the view from my side of the street, what's yours?

Worst Mother of the Century Awards

I am the world's worst mother. Just ask my kids. They'll be glad to tell you how awful I am. And they'd be right in some things. I'll agree that I could have been a lot better. There is no question of that. The things that get to me are the complaints about the things I felt I did right. I had a friend who used to say, “It's bad enough getting crap for things you know you are doing wrong. It's so much worse getting it for what you are doing right!” I agree.

Let's start with today. I picked up the girls from a sleepover. One they didn't want to go to but I made them so, yes, they had fun but they sure aren't going to let ME know that. What they did let me know is that the I didn't put their names on the pillows (that they had forgotten but I went all the way home to get for them). My not putting their names on resulted in Sarah getting Kelly's pillow. This was a disaster worse than the Oklahoma tornadoes!

Then Kelly informed me that I had ruined her life by not putting her into kindergarten until she was six. I explained that she had turned five just days before the school year began and I feel that children do better when they are at least five and a half when school starts. I tried to tell her my feelings but no, “everyone calls her stupid and says she got held back and she does just fine in school and I was the worst mother...”

Nothing I had to say was helping so I said, “I'm sorry. I did the best I could. Hope you do better when you have kids.” Yeah, good luck with that.

A few weeks ago, an over twenty daughter was squeezing her twelve year old sister's breasts and talking about how big her “boobs” were in front of two people we hadn't met yet. One of them was a young man. When I dared to mention that her sister might be feeling a little uncomfortable, my older daughter turned to her friends and said, “See...not even in the house five minutes and she's criticizing me.” Huh???

Here's the one I really don't get. My fourteen year old daughter shows me the dress she and her stepmom bought for her eighth grade graduation. It's adorable. It's also the size of a hankie. I have very set standards of modesty. I have had these standards for all of her fourteen years. It's not in my power to say “ you can't wear that dress” but I'm sure not going to approve of it. I said, “It's cute. I see why you like it. But you know how immodest it is. It barely covers your butt.”

She stormed to her room, verbally nominating me, again, for the worst mother of the century award. I really don't get it. So when she came out we talked. I asked her what my modesty standards are, I asked her how long I have had these standards, and then I asked why does she get mad when she chooses her own standard and I don't like it? I'm never going to like it no matter how cute it is if it doesn't fit my standard. It's that simple.

If sticking to my belief system in a corrupted world makes me the worst mother of the year, oh, well, I'll take the trophy home. I love my children more than they may ever know but I will not change my beliefs to approve of the things they are doing if I believe them to be wrong or harmful. I do not believe that unconditional love is accepting everything someone does as great. It's loving them enough to tell them when what they are doing is wrong or harmful to them or to others. Unconditional love takes guts. It's loving someone even when you might not like them or their choices. And having the courage to say so when it is needed. That's the view from my side of the street, what's yours?

Die Harder

I watched the latest “Die Hard” movie over the weekend. Yes, I'm always a little behind the times because I refuse to spend twenty plus something at movie theaters when if I'm patient, I can see the movies I want for $1.20 from the movie rental box. So I waited. It was hard because I am a “Die Hard” fan from way back.

Being a slightly over middle aged woman I don't fit the profile of your normal everyday action movie fan. And I'm not...an action movie fan. My husband could sit and watch hours of people getting the crap beat out of them or having their brains and guts spilled out everywhere. Not me. I cover my eyes during the slaughter scene in “Hunger Games”.

But I have loved the “Die Hard” franchise because they have usually been more than the usual blood and guts type action flick. They have been intelligent, well written stories with enough of a plot line to keep me interested and enough of Bruce Willis' signature witty lines to keep me amused. And yes, enough action for my husband.

I loved #1. It was a perfect balance of all the things that make this franchise work. I loved #3. Great characters, awesome chemistry between actors and a twisty, suspense full plot. #4 is my favorite by far for all the above reasons. For me it even surpassed the first “Die Hard” plus it was rated PG13 making that a plus in my book. I can't even tell you how many times I have watched that movie.

I don't like #2 (the airport movie). Yes, it had a few good scenes but for the most part I felt that it missed that perfect balance of Bruce, chemistry, plot, etc. that the first one had. It just didn't capture my attention the way the others did. There was plenty of action but not much else. And really, I think it set some kind of record for how many times the “f” word could be used in two hours. It just didn't do anything for me.

And I'm sorry to say that I felt the same way about #4. I just couldn't get into it. The story was confusing. The action was too much and too big. The dialogue was bland and I got the feeling that they cut out the best Bruce Willis scenes. He was doing his best to show us the classic John but the movie kept getting in the way. Even my husband didn't like it. We were afraid that the best scenes might have been left on the cutting room floor to make room more things blowing up.

We also felt like it wasn't “real”. The best part of the “Die Hard” movies have been their sense of realness. Just a troubled hard working New York cop being in “the wrong place at the wrong time.” No superhero type stuff, he's not Batman or Superman or an X Man or any fantasy figure. He's a regular joe. He bleeds, gets old, has family problems and authority issues. We relate to John, the working man who doesn't have all the answers, heck, he doesn't even know all the questions but he does know bad guys when he sees them. And he doesn't give up.

There were a few scenes that showed us this but they were too few. We were so disappointed that we aren't even sure if we'd like to see them try again to take the bad taste out of our mouths or should they just leave it at this because it could get worse. What we were sure of was how glad we were that we didn't spend the money to see it on the big screen. We would have felt event more cheated then we do now. That's the view from my side of the street, what's yours?

Out with the Old....(gulp).

I have tried to post my blog all day without success on my older laptop. My guess is that it is finally ready for that final "shut down" that comes to us all. But that leaves me with a big problem. This newer computer does not have Micro- Word and it will not recognize the info on my USB storage device because it is Word. I have tried to install Word but it keeps asking for the 25 digit product key number which as far as I can tell doesn't exist.
So all of my partially written blog entries as well as all of my completed ones are inaccessible. I'm starting from scratch again. Scary! If anyone can help (Charles?) I should would appreciate it.
In the meantime, I decided to share some thoughts on new vs. old computers.
My old one was very idiot friendly. Before any drastic choice could be made, the words, "Are you sure you want to do that?' would pop up alerting me to the fact I was about to crash the hard drive or something. Being an idiot I found that comforting.
Other info would pop up from time to time telling me alternative ways of doing whatever I was doing. Icons were everywhere and easy to understand. You know, a printer picture meant print and that kind of thing.
My newer laptop doesn't have those things but it doesn't seem to need them. It seems to be a little more idiot proof if you know what I mean. I've taken some strange detours while using it but I always seem to be able to find my way back. And it doesn't get confused with my wanderings. My old one would get so confused it would come to a screeching halt and freeze...often. But this one just keeps speeding along while only occasionally questioning my motives.
Jumping all over the place has taught me much more about the online world than I could learn on my slo-mo machine. One of the most amazing things has been that there are so many different ways to do the same thing and they are all right! A conversation I have had several times with a teenage daughter who is sure that her way and her way alone is the correct way (a great life lesson there).
With my new found confidence I am actually using the net to answer questions I've had all my life, to explore strange new worlds and keep in touch with old ones. I think just maybe I am finding things that I like about the Techno age. Just don't tell any of my kids that. That's the view from my side of the street, what's yours?

Moving on Down the Line

Someone recently asked me how long I have lived in this place. I replied, “About three years…the longest I have ever stayed anyway.” He then asked if that made me feel uncomfortable. I realized from his tone and expression that he was under the impression that I liked to move. He probably got this impression from my daughter. I thought this might be a good time to set the story straight. I hate moving! As a matter of fact, the past eight moves almost broke me completely. Let me explain.


Since I turned eighteen, I have moved in excess of sixty times. Yeah, I know, WOW, right? I’ve thought over these moves since that question and only six of those moves could be classified as moves I chose to make and one of them was iffy.

All the other moves were due to others choices…jobs, parents, husbands, landlords, schooling, etc. There were a number of moves that were made in less than six months, one was made after a three month stay. You’d have to be crazy to love that. OK, I’m crazy but not that kind of crazy.

I had been moved around a lot as a child. My dream for when I grew up was to have a “Waltons” type of home. You know, one that had been in the family for generations. I so longed for a “stay put” place. But that was not to be. So I did what I always do when things happen that I don’t like. I made the most of it. I tried to make each and every move an adventure for my family. We became very expert in the art of moving. We could take down a house in a day, move and get most of it back together in another day.

While boxes were still being unloaded from the truck I was hanging curtains, pictures, putting out knickknacks and designating a play area for the kids. I worked really hard at making each place a home as soon as possible for my children’s sake. We used to hear this comment a lot, “This place looks like you’ve lived here for years!” That was my goal.

I took plates full of cookies and my children around each new neighborhood to make new friends. We approached people at the parks and playgrounds and introduced ourselves. Since our church is pretty much the same wherever you go, that helped tremendously. I took us all on rides around the new areas to familiar ourselves with the new terrain. Getting lost was how we found the shortcuts that all the natives knew.

And I hated every minute of it. I hated that each fall I planted bulbs I would never see bloom. Each spring I planted perennial gardens that I would never see grow. I hated trying to figure out each year where the Christmas tree would go. I hated spending my time and money on fixing up dreary places for owners who didn’t care. I hated all the money each move cost. I hated saying good bye…over and over and over again.

I often wondered about what I could get accomplished if all the time, emotions, money and physical work I had to spend on moving was available for other things. I envied those I met who had been in the same town all their life. I envied those who had been in their homes long enough to have to repaint. I envied those who had friends that had known them since they were children. I longed to know what it felt like to have those things.

So am I uncomfortable? Hell, no! I have been here for three springs to see the things I planted last year come up. I have been here long enough to learn that I don’t have to get it all done at once. I can have yard projects for this year and a little more for next year and a little more for the year after that. We just remodeled the bathrooms. That’s something I would have “manically” done right after moving in before.

I have all that time and energy that used to be spent worrying about moving, moving and settling in to use for other things. It’s great! I have good friends and good neighbors. And I know where to put the Christmas tree each year. I love it! That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?

Love Gifts

I want to talk about gifts today. Not the kind that come in packages and are wrapped up in pretty paper and bows, I want to talk about the gifts life gives to us. Many times I think we are so wrapped up in “whatever” that we miss them. Yesterday was full of gifts for me. I want to share them.


I awoke yesterday morning feeling emotionally drained and shattered. I had been blindsided by some news and an event that I should have seen coming. Actually, I did sort of see it coming. I just wasn’t prepared for how it would make me feel. I had been crying off and on (mostly on) for two days. I didn’t even want to get out of bed to face the day ahead.

I reluctantly got dressed and ready for church. I hate going to church or anywhere when I feel so emotionally fragile but I knew I needed to. My first gift came as I entered the building. A friend gave me a giant hug and whispered an encouraging message. She had no idea of what had happened. I didn’t tell her. I just thanked her for the hug and said “I needed that.”

The next gift was a joke from another friend that brought an unexpected laugh from me. Then I met a stranger and in welcoming him I made a friend. Then a dear older friend told me a love story. It was about how he and his wife met. It touched my heart and cheered me up. The meeting itself brought much comfort and strength as did partaking of the sacrament… the best gift.

I was taken aside by a soul mate friend and I poured my heart out to her. I knew it was safe in her hands and she didn’t tell me it would all be alright. She understood and grieved with me. Together we found some positives in the negative situation. That was another one of the best gifts.

At home I was able to Skype with my son’s family and wish my five year old grandson “Happy Birthday”. My husband and I had a chance to have a heart to heart talk with two of my daughters. I received a visit from a daughter I haven’t seen for a while. I met two of her friends and had a nice visit with them. I was even told that I’m a talented writer (many thanks for that, Chelsea)!

I even had a chance to save a life. It is a baby magpie’s life but it’s a life all the same. I’m sure that I will expound on that in another blog. I was greeted by a neighbor’s dogs like a long lost friend and that neighbor herself held me in her arms and gave me words of kindness (thank you, Jan)!

And last night, when everyone was gone (except MJ the magpie) instead of feeling sorry for myself or crawling into bed to cry myself to sleep, I was at peace. Exhausted but at peace. All the gifts I had received that day flooded my mind and I realized that I am very blessed.

Thank you to each and every one of you that made my day endurable. And thanks again to a loving Father in Heaven who sends us these angels on earth to minister to us in our times of need. I’m convinced we all get these gifts but I don’t think many of us recognize them as such. So open your eyes and your hearts and look for your gifts. They are there somewhere.

That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?