Fathers

Today's Fathers' Day, a time when children call their fathers or visit them, giving them neckties,

grilling accessories, and so forth.  Those things were never really appropriate for my dad.  Visiting with him, yes, of course~~if that was possible.  Sometimes we lived states away from each other.  At those times, a phone call would do.  Most times, a card was given.

Choosing the right card can be tricky.  Because usually the typical father's day cards mentioned golf, boating, fishing, etc.  Dad didn't do those things.  Well he did go fishing, but not with such an undying passion that would necessitate a card devoted to it.

I do not remember ever giving my dad a necktie.  He seldom wore them and had a few that would suffice if a wedding, funeral, or day in court arose.  So lots of the typical images of fatherhood just didn't seem to fit.

My father is a complex man in that he's not the most predictable person.  He's a simple man in that his needs are few.  He is a great listener, a deep thinker, and can tell the most amazing stories.  He has a great sense of humor, is charming, and has a capacity for kindness, caring, and love.

So if your father doesn't fit into the model commercial image of dad's day pictures; so what?  As long as you dad was your dad, a good man with an interest in you and someone you can turn to in moments of celebration, sharing those victories in life, a parent you can depend on to extend support, when you need it the most, a listening ear, offering sage advice, and as long as YOU are happy with you dad, who cares if he doesn't wear a necktie, goes golfing, or owns a pair of dock shoes.

Your dad is probably the onliest one you're gonna have, so be glad of him.  I love you dad, and I hope you've a great day today and always.  Huggles and chuckles, your dear daughter debra.

Just Sayin'

I'm not always the easiest person to get along with {*gasp*, no! really?} and at times can be persnickety as all get out.  Usually that happens when I am feeling out of control and so feel the need to regain or maintain what control there is, by grousing over the seemingly trivial things.  To me, at that moment, those are big things, very important, and they matter.  To others, especially those who do not know me personally, those trivial things are just that, small and inconsequential to the big overall picture of forests and trees.  I'm down there spazzing over the leaves and roots, and others are all, "chill, woman, those pine needles will be fine!"

On the other hand, there are lots of times when I'm way over on the other end of the spectrum, with huge grandiose sweeping visions of possibilities with very little idea of how to break that down into actual plans for making that happen.  At those moments, I'm all, "thousands of acres of national parks with paths and camping and intentional instruction of the natural plants around them...whadja mean, THE forest?  I'm talking thousands upon thousands of acres..."

Mostly I live in the midlands, in more moderate conditions of, "yup there's a forest of all sorts of trees there, and here's another forest of all sorts of trees, maybe there is a way to make these forests more productive or hey here's an idea, maybe we should just leave the forests alone and appreciate them for what they are".

Believe it.  Or not.  Up to you.  But sometimes  being capable of seeing all the various perspectives is not nearly as beneficial as you might think.  Sometimes seeing all those perspectives, with the pros and the cons and the yeas and the nays, can be overwhelming and can actually almost become paralyzing.

And then I'm not good to anyone because I cannot even be good for myself.  The possibilities are mind~blowing and not necessarily in a good way.  My mind has taken a few too many blows over the years and while the occasional stretch is a good thing, allowing me to build new ideas as I reassemble my blown mind into a fully functioning model; somewhere along the way, resiliency is lost and understanding and seeing everything no longer feels fun and freeing.  Instead, it feels overwhelming and threatening, it feels terrifying and frustrating.  It can swallow me whole and leave behind blown mind~bits that might have been useful at one point but are now odds and ends that I can't find, but sorely need.

This is why the recreational drug escape route that so many flock to with zest and zeal because it helps them to expand has never really been my thing.  I worked too hard to get where I am, which is right here, now, in the moment, with some plans for the future and some familiarity of the past.  It's too hard for me to keep balanced in the here and now to actively seek another mind~blowing experience of which I don't retain some control.  I've fought hard to maintain a balance or moderate range within my life, to go upsetting that apple cart to get to the grapefruit.

So when folks ask me why I take the medication I do, my reply is that the meds I take keep me here and functioning, for the most part.  Because I can only speak for me and my experiences, I can tell you that I hesitate to disturb the fine balance we've achieved to introduce an alternative to what I already have established.  My resiliency is not great anymore, and knowing that about myself makes me less inclined to be adventuresome in very many ways now.  I'm spinning and balancing too many full plates of different sizes and some will fall and shatter.  So it's a matter of choosing which are worth the energy it takes to focus on maintaining.

Sometimes I walk the line, other times I sit on the cliff; but usually, I'm dancing to my own drummer in the forest of pines.

Truly a work of art

I don't remember where or when I picked up this book, but it is very likely that I'd gotten it from the freebie table at our local public library a few years back.  Since I have stacks of books which are piled in various areas, along with overflowing bookshelves in just about every room in the house; I am never caught up on my reading.  There are many books that I have intentions of having had read, but have not yet done so.  Any bibliophile can not only understand this, but is most definitely in the same tub, along with the proverbial butcher, baker, and candlestickmaker...because we all make odd bedfellows.

The point is tho that this particular book called to me in cheerful tones of beckoning loveliness because storytelling and quilts.  I love storytelling, both to listen/read and to actually tell {or ya know, write}.  And I admire quilts, quilting, especially handmade quilts.  So I started to read this and quickly determined that this is the adult equivalent of "Little House on the Prairie", soddies, buckboards, midwest, and all.  I say "adult" not because it is pornographic, but because Laura Ingalls Wilder's series tends to be written for and read by children.

Both Wilder and Grace Snyder rely on their daughters to tell their stories, to tell them accurately, and from the perspective of the mothers not the daughters {Rose and Nellie, respectively}.  Both focus on the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries and what life was like for them personally, for their neighbors in general, and also how the world's events influenced their lives as well.  There are many similarities, of course, and many differences as well.

It's taking me an unusually long time to read this book, in part because I am having problems focusing for long on any one thing.  This is reminiscent to me of when I was first diagnosed with bipolar disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, and so forth.  The main difference between now and then is that at that point, I was having problems functioning at all; while I am comparatively in a much better frame of mind now.

In part though, another more importantly positive reason that it is a longer than usual process for me to read this book is because I have been thinking a lot while I read.  So two or three paragraphs will find me an hour later no further along in the text, but in my mind, I've covered miles and miles of dry sandhills and dusty plains.  Earlier today, I told my husband that I am sure that I would not have survived the brutal workload and harsh conditions of childhood had I been born during that time period.  I am in awe of the fortitude these people had to deal with life, let alone to make that life beautiful in creative and functional ways.

The quilt featured on the cover of the aptly named No Time on My Hands is the Flower Basket Petit Point.  Grace Snyder received permission, and a full set of china dishes, from the Salem, Ohio company which inspired this pattern and design, complete with the flowers' colors.  This quilt is now part of the International Quilt Study Center & Museum, at the University of Nebraska, Lincoln.  How many pieces are in this king~sized quilt?

Just under 86 thousand.

No Time on My Hands.

June 12th Thoughts

My husband suggested that we head downtown for a bit today, with our computers, have some lunch, coffee {decaf for me, please}, and spend some time reading and writing.  This is a perfect way to spend today, thank you very much, Mister Wolf!  With all the noise in my head, I wanted to pick just one thing to focus on to write about and that wasn't happening.

So I decided to google "June 12" and see what there was to see!  I opened the first ten links and read about what this date meant in various wars, battles, and political arenas {Virginia Declaration of Rights adopted, for instance}.  In 1942, Anne Frank received a diary for her thirteenth birthday, which most school children during the fifties, sixties, seventies, and into the eighties went on to read.  Not sure if it is still required or recommended for reading in the education curricula now or not.

Who knows how many diaries began due to kids reading Frank's own writings from those tumultuous

years?  It's been awhile since I read a translation, but I do recall that she wrote from where she was in her life, she wrote of her possible future, she wrote of the petty, the wistful, the anger, the hurt, the confusion, the dreams, the beginnings of teen angst, and the mature insights of human nature in general.  We all have similar insights, regardless of age, socio~economic status, ethnicity, or locale.  It's how we share them, even with ourselves, taking notice of our selves, our thoughts, those around us, the world's current events, and so forth.  Frank was able to record such things, in large part because she had to have hours of stillness, of quiet contemplation, of inactivity, of being with her own thoughts.  Circumstances were such that she could not run about, play with friends, turn to others.  She had herself for company, and altho there were others present, she didn't have peers to chat with.  Her socialization was extremely altered from the world she had known and from the world we know today.

There are many of us who have written pen pals, diaries, blogs, etc.  We start them with good intentions to continue them, to write regularly, to record significant steps.  But most of us don't.  How many baby~books have you seen that are actually written in, let alone finished?  I think most of us might have good intentions, but life occurs and things happen and priorities take place and there are only so many hours in the day, so much time we have to devote, and so forth.

Some folks are internally conflicted, because their intentions was good, but the other stuff sounds like excuses.  I believe tho, that those other things that arose were important to ourselves too, and we did them because we can and because we are LIVING.  And those things are good for us too.

Johanna Spyri authored Heidi,  When I was a child, I read my mother's copy of that book from when she was a child.  That copy is long since gone, it was ruined in the fire during the early eighties, when I was twelve or so.  I loved the book, the story.  When I first saw the movie, I fell in love with Shirly Temple and wanted to sleep in a hay filled loft, eating goats' milk cheese and drinking milk straight from the cow.

In 2010, a professor came across a book that was written by Hermann Adam von Kamp before Spyri's Heidi.  In fact, it might have been Spyri's familiarity with that story that led to her own.  Adelaide:  Das Madchen vom Alpengebirge {Adelaide, the girl from the Alps} and Heidi share similar plot and imagery.

Not having read Adelaide, I cannot address the matter in particular; except to say that there are many versions of the common plot lines, rags to riches, ill fated lovers, overcoming some obstacle to reach goal, and so forth.  And there are many times ideas will form to various folks simultaneously, just ask anyone who works with the patent, trademark, and registration offices.  So while I do NOT support plagiarism, I do support the expression of your own creativity, as odd or as similar as it might be to anything already in existence.

Very very few of us are completely unique.  We build upon what has come before us, what we know the world to be, and take it a step further.  We are all of us individuals in the combination of elements that make us who we are, yes.  But we are all star stuff, just like everyone else.

Imma Ijit

Last night, I visited a profile I'd forgotten I even had...yahoo!  I belong to a few Yahoo! Groups that I find useful.  The updates are mailed to me, usually on a daily basis.  Most times, I glance thru the summary and delete, but sometimes I have the time and inclination to respond to an item of interest.  One of my crochet groups had a link to an older post which showed a round ripple, and I went to the Yahoo! Group.  But on the way, Yahoo! wanted me to verify this and update that, most of which I skipped.  But I ended up at my profile, and saw this:

Instantly, it reminded me of younger days, when I was a tad creative with colored pencils and lighter of heart and attitude.  Le Mon from my banner resulted from those days, as did Imma Ijit {who could probably be a very distant cousin of Stewie's, the lemon~head baby on Family Guy}.  I was experimenting with how a few well placed lines could completely capture a certain expression, flow of movement, or personality.  What you don't see here is that Imma is wearing a pair of lace up boots, similar to Doc Martens, with her billowy skirt, feminine top, choker neckband, and bald head.  She rocks!

Imma has a sister, Ermmahh, who is shy and hesitant.  She's hidden somewhere.  I won't go dig her out, because I need to be tidying things up, not tearing apart my home!

abounding betterness

Last night, I boiled the lil red new potatoes pictured here and then mixed some butter and curry into them.  And ground pistachios.  Why?  Well, why not?

They were tasty and I'd do them like that again, if I think about it.  Truth is I have all sorts of ground nuts at the moment, because I didn't get to use them up making energy balls...because I burned up my food processor's lil motor that couldn't while I was mincing dried cherries and dates.  So I stopped making the energy balls and now have bags of ground nuts {which didn't cause problems, but the dried cherries gummed up the works, imagine that?}.  Usually I forget about the ground peanuts, walnuts, pecans, pistachios. and wheat germ.  But yesterday, I remembered because I was thinking about a dish that I used to make often in my twenties, using boiled potatoes, sunflower seeds, butter or sour cream, and some cheese.   It was the sunflower seeds that sent me to the nut cupboard.   So yes, I'd make the boiled potatoes with curried butter and pistachios again.

But as most of you know, my husband does 99% of the cooking, baking, sauteeing, boiling, grilling, and so forth that's done here.  The other one percent is actually done by guests.  Yes, guests cook, because they want to.  I cook too, but rarely.  Not sure why.  I used to cook often.  But don't much anymore.  And when I cook, I usually end up with a huge pot of whatever it is that is being made.

So my husband is now slicing and dicing some veggies from Lancaster Farms for dinner.  Actually his main purpose was to saute the cabbage that I forgot we had in the fridge; but now that the other veggies are sauteing in the pan, there is no room for the cabbage.

So we'll have the cabbage tomorrow.  Today was a better day than yesterday and I hope tomorrow will be better still!  My awesome husband feels better, I feel better, the pups feel better; betterness abounds!

Do what your own agency's policy states

Loooooong time readers will remember years ago when I had daily contact with several federal and state government agencies.  Recall how carefully I'd read the policies regarding certain procedures?  Remember how utterly frustrated I would get?  That's very usual, I think, to become exceedingly frustrated with bureaucratic agencies.  I'm not special in that way.

But I was special in that I was able to have multiple others in the health care profession join my support team and take up my battle~cry with me.  And I was able to establish not just my own paper trail, and not just the documentation of this general practitioner's office and that counselor's office and this psychiatrist's office; but I was able to establish all that through the United States' Federal Department of Education's own Ombudsman's office.  And eventually, all was well.

Yea, me.

So, let's fast forward a bit.

My mental health has improved vastly over the past several years, in many ways.  Because I am able to take the breaks I need to, I'm able to do a fair amount of self~monitoring and know when I am unable to do this or that or should probably avoid contact with these offices, those people, or this organization.  I've learned that when I feel this way, I should avoid that situation.  When I feel that way, I should seek this professional's assistance or notify that practitioner, because it's probably time for a med adjustment or even a re~evaluation of all my medications and the schedules they are on.

I'm able to avoid certain triggers altogether, and know that I've good support networks in place for handling other stressors.  And sometimes, I can pull off appearing to be within the range of acceptable or normal behavior.  And at other times, I misstep and it's not that bad to recover.

Then there are other times, when I realize that I have completely misjudged the situation, overestimated my own abilities, and crashed into an unforgiving wall of "Nope".  Sometimes I recover from that pretty well, if not with grace and dignity.  But then there are those times that remind me that I may have come a long way, but I've yet a long way to go.

This morning, I learned that the close to thirty thousand dollars that we payed for my mother~in~law's care for the past year and a half is not going to be considered at all in Medicaid's decision to cover her care at the nursing home from this point forward.  Not only are we going to have to not be reimbursed for any of that well documented and legitimate expense, but we have to pay close to another twenty thousand as well.  So, I'll be again looking at the stated policy of government agencies and perhaps in contact with a different Ombudsman's office.

I literally sat for hours today and stared at walls, trying not to lose my shit altogether.

Six months later

Sometimes, I think, "surely folks must be sick and tired of me citing my mom's death, of me saying that she's dead, one week, one month, three months, six months" and then I realize it's more that I'm sick and hard of citing mom's death; because I'm wishing she wasn't dead, and I'm wishing I was past it, even though I know that six months is reasonable and I know that getting past it isn't really going to happen, that you always miss the ones you love, when they are absent from your life.  I get all that, I understand it, but that head knowledge doesn't always affect the heart's feelings.

So, yesterday I was talking with a friend of mine on the phone and started to cry, telling her that I don't think I'm doing all that great.  She disagreed, telling me that she thinks that I've been handling things remarkably well.  She went on to say lots of other reassuring things, that I needed to hear at the moment.

Mom never wanted to be a bother, she wanted me to keep living my life, not to allow her to interrupt things for me.  And I tried to honor that, and kept in mind all those things that people advise, like not to make any huge changes or decisions while grieving.  And so I shouldered on, and did those things that I'd already committed to, that I already planned, that I felt I needed to address because they were things that needed to be done for other folks, or because I should do them, because I should, that was reason enough.

Then I thought that perhaps I was using those commitments as a delaying tactic so that I wouldn't

have to face up to mom's death, that I wouldn't need to go thru her things, her clothes, etc.  Even tho her death was not something that I've avoided or been able to avoid even if I had wanted to.  So, I began to tell folks, "starting in midMay & running thru July, I'm taking a break" so that I can focus on mom's things and grieving.

But then last week, I realized that none of that time is for me, really.  It's all family stuff.  And it's all on the go, Go, GO.  And now that I am starting to decompress, I'm plunging, I'm more and more tired and exhausted and sore.

I'm so conflicted, internally.  Because I don't seem to be doing a good job with easing back on involvement, without taking on more commitments and wanting to do the best that I can do, to excel on those commitments.  But I dread them, and they are no longer fun, if ever they were in the first place.  Just because I can do something and do it well, doesn't necessarily mean that I should or even that I truly want to.  Yet I want to do them, because I've committed to them and I so don't want to disappoint others.

I can't seem to find that balance of moderation, that midrange that is a healthy place to be.  I go from one extreme of doing all I can do, and then taking on more, to the other extreme of wanting to chuck it all so that I can draw a clear line of delineation.  And even now, I think, "aren't others sick and tired of hearing me whine?"

"Boofle"

Those of you who know me, also know that I think I have the best husband I could possibly have; he's supportive, loving, accepting, witty, giving, goofy, and so very caring that sometimes our love~fest of appreciation makes others nauseous with all the sweetness overflowing and coating
every surface with sticky honey love.

Jerry is also my personal shopper, cuz I hate shopping, especially for clothes.  He has good tastes and knows what I like, so is able to pick things that he knows I'll wear and appreciate.  Aren't I lucky?

Last night, when I got home from a day of running about like a crazed social moth, Jerry had a few things for me.

One was a sleeveless, maxi dress.  The bodice is a smooth black fabric that is lightweight.  The rest is a white paisley on a blue background with black touches here and there.  Fits wonderfully and it'll work well for "summer casual" events...cuz my definition is considerably different than polite society's idea.

And a lovely card "just because".

It features "Boofle", a knit puppy.  The card itself has textured relief, of the garter stitched head and ears, ribbing for the paws, and tighter reverse knit for his nose.  The back of the card tells the brand's story:

"Grandpa's favorite sweater was old and frayed,
But Grandma knew something more could be made.
She started to sew on that cold winter's night,
And Boofle was born~~to the children's delight!
Boofle was all that a cute pup should be~~
A lovable friend for you and for me!"

Right now, today, the memories are ok

One priority that I've set for this month is to go thru mom's things and pack them for my brother and father.  It allows me to spend some time with memories, for those objects evoke plenty of shared CorningWare and her haluski electric pan, because he is a good and frequent cook, and so would use them often.

times, throughout my life, and stories mom has shared with me from her own life.  Since my husband is with me during this time, sometimes I tell him about mom and her set of stainless steel pots and pans that she'd bought as a young woman; or how I learned to fry hamburg in cast iron when I was 8 {though I could not light the stove til years later}; or how mom had a special cast iron pan that she only cooked eggs in and woe to the person who ever fried anything else in it; or how mom wanted my brother to have the set of

That was a huge tenet for mom;  use it.  Don't place it in a closet, keeping it for posterity.  Use it.  Fine, if you want to keep something for "special use", such as Grandma's lace tablecloth at Christmas dinner.  But use it.  Otherwise, you've been hiding it.  Your kids need to make their own memories with those old family items, otherwise it loses meaning and when it becomes theirs, they don't have a special memory that is dear to them to assign to that object.

If something is a gift, of course, it is yours to do with as you please.  But she'd rather see you use it than have it be relegated to the closet and have no special place in your life.  She'd say that she put the time and effort into it, so that it can be useful and beautiful, practical and pretty, functional and fantastic.  She never made a fuss over broken dishes, and believe me, I've broken plenty over the years and shed tears.  And mom would shrug and say that when you use things, sometimes they fall, fall apart, shatter, break, get chipped, whatever.

And if you notice, the patina from use gives the piece a well~loved finish.  It feels comfortable in your hand, and you can feel those memories of those hands who held this before you, and that can make your heart very happy indeed.

Mom has been dead for six months now.  I miss her, every day I think of something to share.  But that sharpness, a keening grief that leaves me breathless doesn't happen quite as often.  I still am hit at odd times, such as in the dentist's chair during my cleaning yesterday; but I'm not completely shattered each time her absence is apparent, in an endless series of blows that leaves me worn and frazzled.

This morning, while I was sorting, packing, and placing items at her place; I was sure to take the time to sit still and be with myself, with mom, with memories, with Jerry, and be in the present as well as giggle over this gadget or that picture or the quick flash of her scruching her face up to put me at ease and not take it all so seriously.  After awhile tho, I was filthy, covered in sweat and Foxy's fur.  So I knew it was time to call it a day, and head home for a shower, before I did something stupid like wipe my eyes with cat dander coated fingers.

I feel fine, I know what I'm doing, what the plan is, how to do this, and I have time, to do it right, to take my time and give myself what I need, when I need it.  I have grown into the person I am, and am glad that I have this ability to handle things this way.  And I am so very loved, so very supported, and so very fortunate to have Jerry in my life, to help me thru all this.

Just before I left Starkville, I had started a baby blanket for a friend who just had her first lil girl.  I worked on it while Jerry drove.  I just finished it this evening, while we listened to the end of "Roots".  I still need to weave in the ends, but this is it.  It's slightly different than the series of baby blankets I have been doing, with a shallower chevron.

5,000 Miles in 10 Days

Yesterday, I wrote a bit about the TearDrop {we still haven't picked the perfect name, oh but we will, yes, we will}.  However, that was just a portion of our trip.  So let me tell ya some about the rest!

Friday 15 May, Jerry and I went to a workshop MSU's Extension Services held in Lowndes County, focusing on tree farming.  Mostly with "how do I know when to thin my trees?" for those of us who have fast growing pines planted.  It was an informative session, with lots of handouts and goodies, a few books on Mississippi trees and nonnative invasive pests.  There were some hands~on walk~abouts and demonstrations.  And mouth watering bone~in grilled pork chops, potato salad, and beans.  We were very reassured that we are doing what we should be at this point, and nothing we shouldn't be.  Mostly for now, it's a hands~off, let them grow, waiting game.  Yea!!

So then Saturday morning, we took off around 4:30a:  go west, young man, go west!  We stopped in Winona, MS for breakfast at Waffle House and had some of the nicest waitstaff we'd encountered in a long time.  Thanks, Paul and Andy!  Jerry even sent glowing compliments to the home office to commend these two gentlemen for their outstanding service.

About an hour later, the hashbrowns were making me sleepy {and probably the early start had something to do with it too} so I drowsed in and out while Jerry drove up through Memphis, into Arkansas, clipping the northeastern corner, we stopped at Mammoth Springs.  It rained during our drive to Logan, Utah at all times, except when it was snowing in Wyoming...but that was still rain, just much colder.

We had lunch on Saturday at Uncle Rooster's in Missouri, and signed the floor.  I attempted to draw a howling wolf's silhouette with the blue Sharpie, but it was a very jagged impression.  It's ok tho, I labelled it "Wolf", in case anyone staring at the floor's myriad of signatures and other squiggly lines though, "hey, what's that?"

Not "our" tumbleweed
Wyoming

By the time we called it a day and stopped for the night for a shower and some sleep, we'd driven a thousand miles and were in Ogallala, Nebraska.  Sunday morning, we encountered our first tumbleweed and stopped in Laramie, Wyoming for a late breakfast, which turned into lunch by the time we were served.  I am not sure, but I think there was only one cook in the kitchen and he was manning every thing there, except for rinsing the dirty dishes, while five waitresses stood around behind the counter, chatting with each other, and carefully avoiding customers' beckoning hands holding empty coffee cups.  That would be the other end of the waitstaff spectrum from the previous day's breakfast experience.

We stopped at Buford, population ONE, for gas and that's when I realized that my jacket was keeping my dining room chair nice and toasty in Mississippi, while I was wrapping the fleece car~blanket around my bare legs...it was short wearing weather in the south, snow spitting in the mountains of Wyoming.  D'uhm, DebRAH, D'uhm.

Sunday evening, we pulled into Logan and ate at Angie's {"where the locals eat"}.  Beautiful place.  The next morning, the high desert chill burnt off fairly quickly, especially since I was dancing about with excitement while viewing the TearDrop for the first time.  See earlier post for that.

By 10a, local time {Mountain?}, we drove off with our TearDrop and headed for Portland, Oregon via the southeastern corner of Idaho.  I didn't see a potato, nary a one; but since they were probably still growing underground, that'd make sense.  We did stop for a bite to eat in Snowville, not named for the wintry white fluffy stuff, but for the founder of the town.  They school their kids til 5th grade and then ship them forty miles away for grades six and up.

Various states have various policies regarding rest~areas and their usage; in Oregon, you can spend the night and so that's what we did, around Broadman, some 160 miles east of Portland.  Our first night in our trailer went well and I reminded myself that in the future, I'll need to stop drinking fluids well before bedtime...toilets are not quite as accessible as stumbling from bed to the one several yards away in the master bath like here at home.

Tuesday morning, we stopped at Cousin's, off exit 84 on I~84.  The door moo'd at me as I opened it and then crowed at me when it shut.  The hostess greeted as with, "hey there cousins" and I parried back with "it's been a long time", she didn't sally forth with a witty reply.  But I was not terribly disappointed because OMG, I had the best breakfast of the trip right then and there.  They make their mammoth sized cinnamon rolls daily, and sliced that, dipped it in eggs, and served me up some french toast tastiness that was not too sweet, and had just the right amount of whipped butter.  I drank a pint of grapefruit juice, which meant we had to stop at every other exit in search of a restroom.  Apparently the "no fluids at bedtime" rule needs to be amended to also include "no pints while traveling".

The scenery along the trip was fantastic, with lots of ooohs and ahhs filling the car around every bend of the road.  The trailer pulled nicely thru the mountain ranges, and we'd listened to two audio books that were very apropos for that portion of the trip. "Uncommon Carriers" regarding cargo delivery, via trucks, tankers, boats, ships, barges, and trains covered a vast majority of I~80; while "The Signal" discussed camping, hiking, and fishing in Wyoming.

Even with all the pitstops, we still pulled up in front of Daughter Donna's at 9a {Pacific Time, I know that for sure, just sometimes am a lil hazy with where the time zones' boundaries are}.  We spent the rest of Tuesday visiting and eating Donna's fantastic chili.

Wednesday, Jerry and I hopped a bus and went downtown to Powell's City of Books,  It's a city block building that is three stories of new and used books, audio, music, maps, and merchandise.  When you enter, a map of the store is provided, along with a pair of hiking boots {kidding about the footwear}.  We started at the top and worked our way down.  I figured Jerry would love the gold room, and didn't want him to feel rushed, so let's do the rest first.

I plopped at a table in the cafe, with my tea and selections, while Jerry ran back and forth with great exuberance, showing me this book, and telling me about that one, and did I know that they had Dr. Who Yahtzee?!?   After several hours, he flung himself into a chair and cradled his head, "it hurts, there's too much".  I commiserated,   In this case, better too much than not enough.

We went across the street to a consignment shop, where my personal shopper selected three sweaters for me to choose from, and I walked out, with a maroon cardigan for the chillier nights and days.  Then we boarded the bus and headed back the way we came.  We saw a Chinese Restaurant we wanted to try, but turns out that those signs are from what was there before the current back~alley entrance only dive that we quickly left in search of a late lunch, early supper.  Which we found at Beulahland.  Turns out that Donna and her housemates used to live in that neighborhood, so we stumbled into one roommate that we'd only just met the day before.  After a tasty sandwich, we played two rounds of Dr. Who Yahtzee, before heading back to Donna's.

Thursday was a laid back day full of visiting with folks, and Jerry made gumbo for the house.  Everyone liked it poured over the cornbread he'd made, sooOOOooo good.  {sigh}

Friday, Donna and her friends grilled for us, so much food, great folks, lots of laughs, lots of discussion, yea!!  They were a wonderful group, for sure.  It was a lil too cold and damp for Jerry outside, but I was having some cat~allergy issues; so tho we enjoyed our visit, we knew that it was time to head out on our return trip Saturday,

A friend whom I've not seen for twenty years and we met for breakfast at Elmer's.   It was great

She's a hoot, her writing style is great

visiting and catching up the highlights, and with promises to keep in touch, Jerry and I began to retrace our route, heading both south and east.  We stayed that night in Utah, I think, where they posted "drowsy drivers:  rest area ahead" signs often.

Sunday, the road was pretty bad.  Lots of cars, vans, and tractor trailers slid off the road, into ditches, or flipped over, with rescue crews responding as we chugged past, slowly and carefully.  The snow gave way to rain, which turned to sleet, which became heavy patches of fog as we drove thru into Nebraska, where we were told NOT to stop at the rest areas after dark and head to the Wal*Mart parking lot fifty miles east.  So we did, along with sixty big rigs, and a few smaller campers.

Monday, we decided to continue traveling, since the traffic was very light, especially considering it was a holiday.  But then perhaps most folks aren't vacationing in Nebraska and Missouri.  Jerry did most all the driving, and I knit, a whole heaping lot.  We listened to "Roots", which we'd picked up for fourteen dollars at Powell's.  I knew it was an epic tale, remembering when the miniseries was aired; there are THREE MP3 disks.  So we still have twenty tracks to go, not bad considering there were about two hundred in all.

We spent that night in a hotel, about four hours or so from home.  We needed showers and solid sleep, a break from the road, and we wanted to be somewhat fresh for our arrival home, since we knew we'd have lots to do immediately.  Our last meal of the trip was where we started, Waffle House in Winona.

Our girls were so glad to see us, and we them.  We have lots done and lots to do, but we'll just keep plugging away on it.  Ten days travel, five thousand miles, pft.

Plans, plans, plans

When mom was in the hospital in November, and my cousin was here {two separate events that just happened to be at the same time, which turned out to be good timing, all things considered}, I reconnected with a few folks from my mom's side of the family that I'd not seen since I was but a wee child, some forty years ago.  Most of the connections occurred via FaceBook, which was still relatively new for me {*gasp*, "new"?!?  yes, yes, imagine, someone being late to the facebook party}.  Even tho I knew that mom's mom's family had a yearly reunion, I don't remember having gone, tho mom told me that she took me when I was young{er} and encouraged me to attend again.  My cousin who was visiting and I got to talking and decided that it would be great if some one from each of mom's mom's kids represented at this summer's gathering.  So word spread quickly amongst the other cousins and wah~LAH, Grandma Evert's five children will each have some of their children and their children's children present at this year's family reunion in PA.

Now, keep in mind that my husband's five children and their families were already set to return home in July to celebrate Jerry's 60th and his mom's 80th birthdays, plus my husband's retirement.  My maternal grandmother's family reunion takes place the following weekend in PA.  So we decided that we wanted to get the teardrop prior to the trip from Mississippi to Pennsylvania.  All that was planned in December 2014, set in motion in February, and now here we are, getting it all done according to schedule.

Along the way tho, there were lots of other things that came up; including transferring Jerry's mom from the personal care home to a nursing home, and all the stuff that goes with that.  This past year, we rerouted money that would have been going into our retirement plans into immediate care for his mom.  It reaffirmed for us that long range financial planning is a good thing, so that our own care when we require it will be already taken into account and we won't need to rely on our children or the state to provide for us in those ways, leading to a cycle of being unprepared and unable to catch up {we want to be sure to do what we can to get ahead of that NOW for THEN}.

Also, there were various circumstances that cropped up, crises to calm, fires to put out, waters to calm, mountains to restore to molehills, and life to manage.  We've become more adept with how we handle these things, keeping our priorities straight, and doing what we can, when we can, how we'd like.  Most times, this works well and we're good with things; sometimes, compromise comes into play.  And then there are those times when we look back on something and think, "wow, I did NOT handle that well at all."

Fortunately, those times are fewer and fewer, as we get older and older.  Foresight is great, especially if it's accurate.  Hindsight is perfect, especially if you can learn from your mistakes.  Seeing what's right before you, happening right now, is best of all~~cuz that's really all you have for certain.

Wolf Wagon, DewDrop, Pearl, Anal Avenger, & Other Tags

For years now, Jerry and I've been talking about a camper.  We both are past the point of camping via nylon tent and sleeping on the ground.  Besides, that's way too much stuff to haul around, unpack, set up, tear down, repack, etc.  And if it rains, no matter how weather proof that tent is, you still feel damp and clammy.  And as I get older, my sense of smell is getting keener, and sleeping bags, tents, tarps, tend to have a peculiar odor.

I'm more focused on convenience now, but I also like to be efficient and cost~effective.  So I did my research.  Teardrop trailers are also called "canned hams", due to the shape of the tow~behind, hard~shelled campers that usually sleep two {altho some actually have a shelf in them, a loft of sorts, allowing more folks to sleep sardine style}, with the rear hatch opening to provide a kitchen galley of sorts.  There are many who build them for a fee, for fun, or for therapy {just threw that one in there to see if you were paying attention, and you are, which is great for my ego}.  Some companies manufacture them, such as Lil Guys, who go "where they're towed".

NOT ours, but similar is appearance
{door, fenders, vent, tongue}

Usually, TearDrops can be customized with various features, such as fridge, stove top, TV/DVR/Stereo fixtures, AC {both AC as in airconditioners and AC as in 110 outlets}, shelving, lighting, etc.  Exteriors can be aluminum, fiberglass, wood, and can come in a range of colors with various decals and designs.  They come in various widths and lengths, weights and heights, and shapes.  There are more options available, but you get the general idea, I'm sure, right?  Yeah, I thought so.

I drive a Yaris.  Toyota Yaris's do NOT have a towing capacity in the United States, but the exact same car with no modifications can be driven into Canada and all of a sudden, the Yaris now has a 700 pound towing capacity.  Imagine that!  More research.

Then I saw that one company actually makes pods, lil teardrops, that are towable by smartCars.  I figured, if it's towable by a smartCar, it ought to be towable with a Yaris.  More research.

Then I contacted various TearDrop builders.  It was surprising how many builders were not open to discussing variations, even though they bill themselves as able to customize your teardrop for your specs.  But one builder, Preston Broadhurst, of Logan, UT, not only stepped up to the plate and answered all my questions; but welcomed other discussion and hypothetical questions.  He accepted the challenge I posed, and exceeded expectations.

I explained that I wanted a lighter weight TearDrop than his base model, and asked if he could build with lighter materials, while still maintaining the structural integrity and road~worthy safety.  Yup.  Preston told me what he modifications he had in mind, including moving from a 13" wheel/tire to a twelve inch {which was fine, my Yaris is not going off~road and needing high terrain clearance}.  We discussed which features I wanted to include, and which ones would contribute too much weight, so would need to be excluded.  Then, we discussed time frames and monetary considerations.

About a week ago, Jerry and I picked up a lil teardrop trailer and I was so damn excited that I squealed like the lil girl I once was.  I giggled as I climbed inside it and sat in the middle, clicking on and off the battery operated reading lights.  I splashed into a puddle while I wriggled on his driveway to peer under the trailer and poke at the tires.  I took plenty of notes {of course I did} while he explained and showed us how to hook it up, how much slack should be left in the chains, how to properly seat the flat four prong electrical connection, and so forth.  I asked a gazillion questions, most of which had to do with the teardrop, how he got into building them, and what sort of maintenance it might require.

Preston was very informative, very professional while still being accommodating, and an all around good guy.  He assured us when we asked "is this normal?" when we drove it around the block {we'd never towed anything with the Yaris before}.  He welcomed feedback and so forth.

We drove on to Portland, which is "only" ten hours from Logan, Utah~~Portland, Oregon is a helluva lot closer to Utah than to Starkville, Mississippi; that's for damn sure!  In the over five years that Daughter Donna, Jerry's middle child, has been living in Portland, this is the first time we've visited.  We'll be seeing her in July, when she comes eastward for the better part of a month; but we couldn't be THAT close and not go visit her!

The TearDrop handled nicely, even through the Rockies.  It's the exact dimensions of my Yaris, from tongue to galley, from fender to fender, and pretty much in height too!  We're very Very VERY pleased!

Along the way, we tossed around names for the trailer.  Wolf Wagon, DewDrop, Conestoga are the top contenders.  Altho, "Pearl:  the world is our oyster" kinda works too.  A few other not~so~wonderful nomers popped up every now and then, to be shot down with wither glances, guffaws, or groans.

I asked Donna and her fella for a few suggestions and quick as could be, she states, "Anal Avenger" and my first reaction was, "what sort of super powers does the Anal Avenger have?", thinking about Jerry's love of Marvel and DC comics.  It's an odd conversation to have with both father and daughter, but not the strangest one ever.  I learned the story of "avenger" labels and since Donna and I had just finished discussing the cyclops tree directly in front of their porch {"cyclops" was not the first term that came to my mind when I saw the knothole, below which was an almost obscene stain that just begged for comment}, her suggested tag was more reasonable than was first apparent.  However, I think it's safe to say that there are other better names in the running {could NOT help that pun}.

Why have I not posted a picture?  Of the trailer, dudes, the trailer!  Cuz I didn't take one yet, despite having my camera with me.  So there's a similar one pictured above.  Probably when I am less road weary from traveling about five thousand miles in about ten days, I'll take a few pictures.  At the moment, I'm ready to take a shower and climb into bed for some solid sleep, ahhhhhh.

Some thoughts on mothers, my mom, my mom's mom, and Mothers' Day in general

Savvy Sue, a year and a half old.
My mom considered Savvy to be my first grandchild,
hence her great grandchild.  Mom made her a toddler
sized quilt, featuring a paper~doll with all the accessories.

My mom died five months ago, I miss her every day.  In about a hundred ways, I think of things to share, things to say, things to do, places to go, people I want to meet her, funny things to tell her about.  I miss her, her laughter, her hugs, her expressions, her mannerisms.  I want to show her this movie, or that afghan, or this video, or this cute picture of Savvy.

Tomorrow is Mother's Day.  I miss her with a sharp keenness that I've not yet felt that is slightly different than her absence til now.  There is a reason for the traditional mourning period of a year and a day.  That first year without someone is full of firsts.  It is the first holiday season, the first spring, the first spring, the first Mother's Day, the first flowering, the first harvest, the first set of birthdays, the first snow.

I have thought, within that first week of mom's death, "if I am having this much difficulty with mom's absence. what am I going to do if my husband dies before I do?"  How will I handle that?  How will I ever get to an ok place then?

My mom's mom died when mom was 30.  I asked her just this past year, 37 years after grandma died, if mom still misses her as much.  Does she think of her often?  Every day, she said, in some way.  Even if it is something simple and not complex, like, oh how she would have laughed about this or that.

Mom shared more stories about her mom and her own childhood, young adulthood, being newly married, a young mom, etc this past year than before.  She'd found boxes of pictures the year before that, in her move to Mississippi.  We would go thru some, in batches, one day and then perhaps a few weeks later, another batch with more stories.  We'd laugh over some things, and marvel about others.

Mom was 67 when she died.  Her mother, my grandma, was 64 when she died in 1977.  I'm 44.  Heavier than either of them ever were.  I'm not diabetic and insulin dependent as my mother was.  I don't have the co~morbid conditions that accompany diabetes, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, high triglycerides.  I had a stress test in September, because with heart disease being the cause of death for the two most direct women in my lineage, it was a good idea.  I'm fine, my heart is too.

That's not to say that I shouldn't be making changes and being more heart healthy.  I should.  Starting Tuesday, my husband and I will be picking up our share of the Community Supported Agriculture {CSA} in Lancaster Farms.  For sixteen weeks, we'll be bringing home fresh veggies ~~ whatever is in season and being harvested.  Eating better produce is a huge step in the right direction for us.

Mom would be glad to see that.  She'd also be glad to see that I will be resuming my water workouts.  Long time readers will remember my swim suittee years.  My stress levels are lower and she would be glad to see that.  She'd be glad to know that I'm treating myself some better, by encouraging my own creativity ~~ making afghans and playing with yarn.

But the main thrust of all this is not about making Mom proud, or happy, or pleased.  It's about me.  I'm the one who is here and still alive and still able to make those changes and still able to do new things or resume old hidden habits that were good to have.  And no good change ever comes about unless it is for the right reason, you do it for you, ultimately.

I love my mom.  She is a huge part of me, of who I am.  I sometimes sit with that, and feel the fullness of knowing her, of being her daughter, of being her friend.  At those moments, I weep for now, but eventually, I know that I'll wear that well and I'll both hear her laughter coming from my throat and also know that I am uniquely me as well ~~ for we are made of those who came before us and surround us now.

Happy Mother's Day for all you who are mothers yourselves, for you touch, mold, and shape lives in ways that you are not even aware of.  Some day down the road, you will have conversations with your adult children that will show you all that the things that they remember with clarity may be the moments you didn't assign any sort of importance.  Of course there will be shared memories wherein you both feel similarly.  Then too there will be memories that are viewed differently for all involved.  That is the nature of us as individuals, embrace that.

Happy Mother's Day to those of you who come into ready~made families that exist long before you ever arrived.  You may not have taken on any traditional role of mother, but you may be surprised to find that your partner's children and their children have certain views of you that place you in that motherly role...one of listening, loving, advising, and acceptance.

And for those of you who have lost your mothers, it's ok to miss her.  It's ok for tomorrow to be a bittersweet day of mixed memories and emotions.  It's ok to take a few moments just for you, to honor yourself as a child, with a mother of your own.

Freshly Squeezed Newborn Baby Blanket

 I didn't realize until earlier this year, how far away from my own artistic endeavors I've gotten in the past few years.  I'd been so focused on external matters, being a caregiver, being a good citizen and giving back in my community, and being an encouraging person for other people and their creative efforts that I'd forgotten myself and my own creativity, my own needs, my own desires.  Then, a few months back, I was thinking about how this one woman I know has delved further into her art as a release from the more stressful and less creative obligations in her daily life.

A light bulb lit up, the bright hot filaments burning away some of the haze clouding my vision.  My aha! moment stretched into a whole hour, or perhaps week's worth of moments.  Instead of thinking, "I can't perform quality work at this time when I am so distracted, so overwhelmed, so tired, so stressed, so whatever", I could shift my perspective to something like, "being creative is not only an indulgence, but it also will help me in ways that are essential for my health and well being".

Now, theoretically, I knew that.  But in practice, I didn't apply that to myself.  For a very long time.  Years, even.

So I decided to do something about that.  Some days I don't remember to play with yarn.  And that's ok.

I visited the library the other day, and checked out more books than I have in quite some time, just to read at my leisure because I want to loll about in bed, in my jammies, and just read all day, and night, into the next day ~~ sleeping and eating when I want, because I have nothing due at a certain time.  Because that vague but threatening feeling of "or else" has overshadowed me and robbed some of the joy I had found in doing things that I used to like doing, turning them into obligations and chores.  Reading allows me to dust off the imagination and flex those wings, stretching them creakily to take a few rusty flaps at flying.  My brain takes a huge healthy yawn and settles in for some mental adventures of various characters through the years.  Oh, yes.

Over the past few months, I've started to knit again on a more regular basis.  I'm basically using the same pattern, creating chevrons, in both stockinette and garter.  I'm letting my own curiosity creep out cautiously and poke its paw into matters.  I'm indulging my desire to know, what happens if I use this yarn?  Made of this fiber?  What about cotton?  How about this fuzzy stuff?  What about this bulkier sort?  What about if I use these bamboo needles?  Or this size needle with that weight yarn?

Eventually, I'll move into trying this number of stitches, that depth of chevron, this width of stripe,   Then I might get more adventurous with colorways, color combos, yarn combos, and so forth.  Or I might move on to a completely different stitch, pattern, or technique.  Who knows?  Cuz that's part of nurturing that creativity for yourself, you can learn to go with that flow, and go where it goes, and see what's what along the way.

So to that woman who probably has little or perhaps absolutely no idea what sort of inspiration she has ignited for me, thanks for being an artist, for sharing your art, and for being an exemplary example for me and others...just by being you and living your life as you do.  Thanks for being you.

Accepting grief, it's inevitable. It happens.

Today, my husband and I went to my mother's.  Jerry's been so supportive, in and of everything I do and don't do.  Having lost his first wife nine years ago and also his father when he was about my age, Jerry understands the grieving process and encourages me to continue to cope in whatever way I deem necessary and appropriate for me.

So when I dissolved into an ugly snotty mass of tears and allergens, Jerry just went to get the tissues, handed them to me and waited til I blew my nose and cleaned up a lil, and then hugged me while telling me that it was ok to do what I can and then stop to wait for another day.  Which was good, because it turns out that going through mom's clothes was harder than I thought it would be.  On reflection, it makes total sense that the sight and scent of her clothes, the outfits she'd worn, the shirts that were her favorites, the zippered hoodies and flannel shirts that were her jackets...those things brought mom more clearly to mind than I was prepared to deal with today.

I've saved a ton of her clothes, mostly because they are cotton and I can craft with them, making various items to give to others who loved her and want a piece of something of hers to remind them of her and to be close to her.  Even while I quickly designated which pile, box, or bag each item when into; I had ideas of what to do with this shirt, or these jeans, or that hoodie.  But then I was bowled over, when I opened a small center drawer and found her silk scarves that she'd had since she was a teenager, and other accessories and broken watches that had been her own mother's, and the few pieces of jewelry mom had used for special occasions~~a string of pearls, a wristband, an anklet.

And a photograph of the falls, which ones, I am not sure, was tucked into a stack of postcards, bookmarks, and print outs with lists of audio~books she'd listened to.  My father, so tiny next to the grandness of these falls, striding across the stones near the base; he must have been in his fifties~~so the picture could have been when my parents were traveling across country, or it could have been when dad visited mom in the Great Smokies of Tennessee, probably not the tall falls in Ricketts Glen, PA though.

As I view these things, the entire pool of people mom knew and folks who loved her deeply sit upon my shoulders, nudging me with exclamations, "oh! I'd like those ticket stubs, you know; she and I went to see that show every year" or "this goes to dad, I know he'd want that" or "Mic and mom loved these songs, that movie" or "the guys would want these, they were in the house for all those years in PA and then again in AR" or "mom's friend, so&so, would want this" or "this is just perfect for this person or that person".  The entire cast of "this is mom's life" waits in the wings, drawing back the curtain to peep out at what I am seeing, mumbling, "not that, don't throw that away" and I nod and put it in this pile to go to that person.

My psychiatric practitioner expressed concern last week that I'm not allowing myself to grieve.  That I am thinking, after this next event, or after this next month, or after this next set of deadlines, or whatever the next thing is, then I'll take time away from it all and grieve.  Then I'll have fulfilled these obligations; if I just drop it all now and retreat, it'll let these folks down, or that group in a lurch or this person disappointed.  And then I tell my psych. that the backlash and aftermath would be worse than if I just wait til after this next...she nods and smiles and tells me that this way of coping is ok too,  This is just another part of my grieving process and that's ok, she gets it.  And then I feel relieved, as tho I've passed another test of normalcy and acceptability that I didn't even know I was dreading.

Over four months, and I'm just now going thru her clothes.  Then my mental psych/therapist voice chides me for chiding me.  It's ok, I know, but I feel this tremendous inner pressure and yet I want to be the one to do this, I want to be sure to pack things properly and designate this item for that person or know that this box has that in it and will go to these people {usually that means, the guys, my father and brother}.

And I know, that in a few months, a few years, sometime later down the road; I'll be going thru what I have kept for me, to again sort things,,,because maybe this person will have said, "oh, is it ok if no  one else wants this, can I have it?" and that person will have asked, "do you know what happened to...?"  And I'll be ready to part with that item, or this painting, or that piece of clothing will have been made into this thing that this other person wants.

It's ok, being this work in progress and not having all the answers and not being perfect and being a mass of conflicted feelings and having strong reactions that swing widely and wildly from sharp pangs of missing mom to laughing at this memory or that shared story or cringing at hearing her voice coming out of my mouth.  Rolling my eyes, because I can hear her saying, "you watch weird shit," when my husband's sci~fy movie takes a turn into Cheesy~Cavern territory, is becoming customary and accepted, by others but mostly by my own self.  And that's ok.  And it's also ok when it's not ok.  Ya know?  If you've said goodbye to someone you love, then I think you do.  I think you know exactly what I'm talking about.  And if you don't, that's ok.

Scholarships for Starkville Area Youth: Applications Due APRIL 15th

Starkville Area Arts Council does some pretty incredible stuff, I've discovered over the past couple years.  In addition to holding various events like The Magnolia Independent Film Festival, Everything Home & Garden Expo, Cotton District Arts Festival, Forks & Corks; the arts council also supports lots of other endeavors too.  One of those is to help make possible others' pursuits of artistic creativity though awarding scholarships in various amounts.

Summer Scholarships  ~~  These are specifically for Starkville and Oktibbeha County students age ten thru eighteen, who are not yet in college, and are enrolled in advanced art programs during the summer months.  This money can be used for lessons, tuition for various art camps, contest and competition fees, or workshops that further youths' artistic development.  That application can be found here.

College Arts Scholarships ~~  Area graduating seniors who are not yet attending but have been accepted into college, who will be majoring in visual arts, graphic art design, dance, theater, voice, music, applied art, or in another art related discipline, are welcome to apply for these scholarships.    These applications can be found here.

Both the summer scholarship and

 the college arts scholarship applications are due on April 15th.

Get on up...

A few days ago, I posted about some ways I've found over the years to pay it forward, to give back to my community.  One way that I've not yet discussed here is that over the years, I've worked with various non~profits.  Sometimes, on the receiving end of services or other benefits {when I was a kid, I was one of the many who received "free" or "reduced" lunch}.  Sometimes, on the giving end, as someone who could volunteer some here and there or be able to provide some items, clothes, etc that would be used.  Sometimes, I was an employee, so that I could coordinate services and get the right stuff to the right group.  And sometimes, I'd be the spokesperson for the nonprofit advocate group, speaking before another group of individuals, explaining what the needs are for that particular nonprofit.

The main reason I mention these things, here and before, is because some folks want to help, but don't know how.  Or they think they have nothing to offer.  But if you want to help out, you can.  Helping doesn't always mean writing a check, sometimes if that is what you can do and that is what is needed, then that is the most appreciated.  "Helping" doesn't always mean hard physical labor, though sometimes that is what is needed most.  Helping can come in many forms and often it does.

There are many nonprofits and other groups, so examine your own interests and see how you can use your talents to do something you would enjoy doing for a cause you feel passionate or at least care about.  Some people look at their tithe, their church work, etc as being their cause.  Some folks want to do something to help folks who are now in the same situation they had been in previously, because they can relate to that person.  Some want to help kids, some want to become involved in gardening, some are want to share their own talents and skills through teaching and giving lessons.  Some sew, some cook, some carve, some cure, some write, some organize others, ... the list goes on and on and on.

So if you think, "I'm bored"; give it some serious thought.  Think about what YOU want to be doing.  Then do it.  Do you want to sing?  Sing and learn more about music, the voice, pitch, tone, harmonies, etc.  Not sure what you want to do?  Then there are plenty of groups that can help you in the meantime, by asking you to volunteer for this activity, or that event, or whatever.

Get up off your duff, and DO something.  What are you good at?  Find a way to apply that to help someone else!

Giving Back & Paying It Forward

Long time readers know that when I first moved to Mississippi some dozen years ago, life was a bit tumultuous and I was floundering lots.  Over the years, I began to replant my feet, regain some stability, and shape my life into a much calmer, peaceful place.  I had lots of help in doing so, mostly emotional and mental support; lots of encouragement and reassurances.

Because I believe that basic tenent expressed in oh so many ways is vital; I try to be sure to pay it forward, to help where and how I can, and to encourage others.  The principle to do unto others as you would have done unto you, to treat others the way you want to be treated, to know that what you send forth shall be returned to you, et al; can be found in most belief systems~~religious, spiritual, or otherwise.  No one single group can claim it exclusively; I think many strive to include this creed into their own canon, not just as policy, but also practice.

What this meant for me was that about ten years ago, I became more proficient in my use of yarn.  My creativity in the fiber arts grew and my interest drove me to seek other individuals and groups who would also benefit from the things I made.  I appreciate items that are functional and beautiful, so that's what I focused on doing.

Each January, I'd make a list of groups who served populations who could use the hats, scarves, bags, jackets, belts, and other accessories I make.  I'd look at the organizations to be sure that they were actually assisting the individuals and not just spending the bulk of their funds with administrative pursuits and such.  I kept the list local, starting in my town {Starkville}, then county {Oktibbeha}, then state {Mississippi}...before I could get to region {SouthEast}, I'd usually have a more lengthy list than I could hope to fill!

By February, I'd have contacted the organization to see what their needs are in particular and if they could use what I could make.  I'd know which group to focus on for the year and what items to crochet, knit, loom, etc.  Come the winter, ten months later, I'd deliver the goods.

It was a win win win situation; they'd feel good, I'd feel good, the organization would be appreciative.  Yea!!  We all worked together to achieve some goals!  Yea!!

As I became healthier, having better days, more often; I became more active in our local community.  I was careful to choose efforts that didn't depend on a deadline, because I felt too fragile and not steady enough to handle deadlines well.  I was very careful to not accept a position or activity that would rely sole on me and my efforts, because my health was too unpredictable and my energy levels were not very stable.  Sometimes, I would severely misjudge my abilities and my capabilities; and fall flat on my face.

For the most part though, I think I became a better judge of myself, of monitoring myself, over the years.  This meant that some days, some weeks, some months; I knew I'd have to take a backseat, or just not enter the car at all.  Those were quiet times, when I ventured forth into the community for grocery trips, doctors' visits, and Wellness Connection water workouts {spending time in the water was a great way for me to minimize my sensory input, similar to sensory deprivation but not quite}.

About five years ago, I married the most supportive, tolerant, accepting person~~the absolutely perfect fit for me.  With his encouragement, I did become a little more active in our community; joining the newly formed writers' group.  From that, then we became involved with the Writers' Village at the Cotton District Arts Festival.  Eventually, I became more involved with other aspects of Starkville Area Arts Council.  To me, these are ways that I can assist, giving back so that others can also be encouraged and move forward.

Sometimes, it seems like I should be doing more.  I feel like it's just not enough.  But then I look back and I realize how far I've come and that giving into the feeling of internal pressure helped to put me in a bad place to start.  It's a balancing act, one that I get right more than wrong most of the time.

The difference is that now I know that if and when I fall flat on my face, I can lie there for awhile, rest a bit, then let others help me get back on my feet, dust myself off, and move at my own pace.